


Into the Clouds, Into the Rainbow

by cullionly



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Alternian Navy, Alternian Society, Angst, Coming of Age, Established Friendship, Hemospectrum, Initially Unrequited Feelings, Military, Multi, Xeno, intergalactic politics, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 126,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullionly/pseuds/cullionly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a long story about life on the tyrannical planet known as Alternia: how it can, at times, be full of puns on the physics of space and tasteless jokes told at another’s expense, and how it can, at other times, be full of broken limbs and ships rocketing away into the dark of space. They aren’t exactly optimists, but over the sweeps, they've found that being together has a tendency to fill it up with the former.</p><p>But the other thing about Alternia is that it doesn’t matter if you’re a peasant or a prince, it always has a tendency to screw you over. Or maybe that’s a love thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Train Stations and Childhood Friends

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I apologize in advance for the inevitable screw-ups in trollisms. In some of the terms, I opted for the more familiar, human word or phrase to make the story flow better. 
> 
> Secondly, it only seems right to give some credit to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/381752%20) stellar fic, as it was a big inspiration and responsible for a huge amount of my headcanons about Alternia. 
> 
> Finally, the universe that this takes place in is a bit different than simply 'no Sgrub'. Many adult trolls live on-planet, though the military influence is still huge.

 

**Prologue**

         Feferi’s been to her moirail’s hive more times than she can count, even when they were in their rocky period of adolescence and falling in and out of quadrants. They’re stable now; with two sweeps of unfaltering moirallegiance, they’re almost beginning to challenge Equius and Nepeta for the title of cutest pale couple, granted the upper hand because of the intrinsic non-cuteness that comes with sopping towels and gear grease.  

          Papers are usually thrown all across the ground, white sheets bearing the indented brands of genocidal plans from sweeps ago, supplanted with equations and formulas with all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. Eridan still mentions killing all the land dwellers now and again, though its weight has decreased to the point where it’s become almost a joke between the two, once sinister mentions that morphed into memories of the dog leash that tied them together and forced them to pap each other’s faces and shoosh until they were paler than an albino lusus.  

          “You cleaned up!” Feferi calls in her relaxed and high-pitched voice. She doesn’t knock, just throws her tiny frame against the door of the old restored ship a few times until it swings open. The door’s always been sticky, no matter how many coats of grease they douse on the hinges. Seahorsedad stopped whinnying upon her entry when they were two, and started bobbing over to the door to nuzzle at her arm when they were three. She pats the lusus on the head, and smiles slightly when it makes a coarse purring noise in response. “Thanks for letting us use your hive, by the way.”

          The ship is too big for Feferi to bother searching for her moirail, so she waits in front of the TV on Eridan’s huge black couch. It’s soft in the way that only landbound furniture could be, melting under her weight, and nearly engulfing her in a plushy embrace when she leans back into the cushions.

          “Not like I had much choice in the matter. Your hive’s underwater an’ you can’t really stray to the other side a’ town on account a’ Gl’bgolyb.”

          Seahorsedad purses his lips at Eridan as he emerges, wearing his full cape-and-scarf outfit. Feferi’s hands move to smooth down her own clothes, which are distinctly lacking in their usual brightness. She had swapped her sarong for a flouncy grey skirt, feeling it more appropriate for a fish out of water. She doesn’t enjoy drawing attention to her status, heiress title notwithstanding; the only fuchsia she has is the symbol on her shirt. 

          Eridan twists the fuchsia- Feferi’s fuchsia, she reminds herself with a smile- ring around his left index finger. “But you’re welcome, I guess. In all honesty there wasn’t a lot to clean up since I’m a pretty organized guy.”

          Feferi can’t hold back a snicker, and her moirails face falls into a playful sneer. “Remember when I found those old drawings you made of your FLARP character in the medicine cabinet?” She tosses him a mischievous smile. “Unless you made them recently, I’d say you need to do a _wee bit_ more cleaning.”

          “What if that was intentional, hm? Maybe I keep those dumb glubbin’ drawin’s around for a bit a’ schmaltz now an’ again?”

          Feferi sneaks up behind her moirail and wraps her arms around his middle. He’s got over a foot on her; she has to stand on her toes to get her chin to rest on his shoulder.

          “I think you’re a schmaltz, silly-gills. Are we going or not?”

          Eridan wraps his hands around Feferi’s, the cold metal of his rings pressing back into his fingers as he does so, and sways slightly from side to side. “Walking or driving?”

          “For cod’s sake, it’s like a _two_ _minute_ walk!”

          From her vantage point of Eridan’s shoulder, Feferi can only just see the flicker of almost-filled-in-violet eyes to the tinted windows. “It’s just gettin’ dark now, Fef. I can’t have any sunbeams ruinin’ this delicate complexion a’ mine.”

          Feferi wheels around until they’re only linked by one hand, and starts dragging him toward the door, and he starts shuffling along with her, making a show of dragging his feet into staggered steps with a long groan, breaking her face into a grin as they leave.

 

 

          The train station smells like dirt and sweat and garbage, exactly like when Feferi stumbled upon two lowbloods pailing behind a dumpster, in the worst sort of way. Shuttles run from all over Alternia, from the farmlands to the inner cities- even the cities where adults live- to the outer harbour where Eridan and Feferi are. There are minor trains, too- a brief trip to a smaller station would take them to Gamzee’s neighbourhood.

          “I wonder what time he must’ve gotten up to catch the train,” Feferi says over the chatter in the station. “He’s inner city, right?”

          Eridan barely gets in a shrug before an arriving shuttle sends a blast of air their way, causing his cape and scarf to billow out and slap a troll behind him. The troll stops in his tracks, and reaches right for Eridan’s shoulder, digging his claws in and spinning him around.

          “Oi, control your gaudy outfit, shits-“ he starts to spit, but his cerulean eyes go wide and his voice loses all fire once his brain catches up to his words. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and starts to shift away. “I-uh, didn’t realize you were sea dwellers.”

          Before either of the pair can throw a rebuttal, the cerulean is swept away to the endless sea of trolls scuttling from train to train with coloured maps in their grip.

          “Fuckin’ assholes in the train station,” Eridan mutters, patting imaginary dust off of his shoulder. “Start waxin’ black for anyone that gets in their way.”

          Feferi stifles a laugh and nudges him in the side.

 

          The 234 train comes a few minutes late, filled over-capacity, the sea dwellers discover as a flood of trolls stream out, completely dashing all hope of picking their friend out.

          “I hope this is the right one,” Feferi mutters, frantically looking from side to side, bouncing on her toes to try and reach a higher vantage point. Eridan puts a palm on her shoulder, stopping her hair from swishing so violently, and stoops in front of her, ushering for her to get on his back.

          The piggy-back ride gives only a few more inches of height, and the two end up circling through the whole platform twice to no avail, until the last few passengers get off the train.

 

          The three passengers disembarking are familiar in face, though not as much as they should be. They’ve all seen each other numerous times before, in video chats and uploaded pictures of themselves doing stupid things, and even in person a handful of times.

          Neither of the sea dwellers have seen Tavros in ages, and even in his two-wheeled device from a distance, he looks taller and more mature. Gamzee’s getting huge, not just in height, but his once-reedy frame is showing the first signs of filling out, and though it’s hard to tell with make-up, his face is getting less gaunt and more defined.

          Feferi sprints toward them, her slight body easily zipping through the thinning herd of trolls in half the time it takes Eridan. There’s no ramp to get off the train, and Gamzee, careless as ever, pushes the chair down the three steps. Tavros yelps each time the wheels clunk to the ground, forcing out a smile when they reach the bottom.

          “It’s fine; I’ll carry your bags, since obviously getting down three steps is a full-body experience.”

          Tavros keeps his feigned grin on when Sollux emerges out the swinging doors and hurls a backpack to each of his friends. “It’s, uh, quite an experience, I’d say, when you don’t actually have functioning legs.”

          Gamzee struggles with his backpack like it’s some sort of canvas puzzle, but eventually gets it slung over his shoulder so he can bend down the rest on the handles of Tavros’ chair. “Safe and sound, my brother. Call it a train miracle. Miracle engines all up and firing up their motherfucking motors, sliding on a motherfucking safety vest for my good bro.”

          Feferi pokes her head in closer to her friends, inspecting Tavros’ bulging backpack. “Are you staying over?”

          Tavros nods. “For, um, the next three days, was what we planned.” He pulls a well-used piece of paper from his pocket and inspects it, head snapping up to see a one of the trains just pulling in. “Oh, that’s the 109 train.  We should probably get going, to the train I mean. Motorizing, so to speak.”

          Two crushing Feferi-hugs and a few ‘see you around’s later, Feferi, Eridan and Sollux are left standing at the other platform, watching Gamzee struggle to lift Tavros plus the chair up the steps. Once the crowd waiting to get on the bus starts to buzz with annoyance, Feferi can see, despite their monocolour, Sollux roll his eyes and start jogging to the two, grabbing the bottom of the chair and hoisting it up.

 

          “You guys have no idea how glad I am to see you,” Sollux says breathlessly once he jogs his way back. Eridan is about to raise his eyebrows at such a sweet sentiment, when he continues. “Two hours listening to their slam poetry, holy fuck.”

          “Did Gamz go all the way over to pick Tav up just so they could ride the train together?”

          Sollux fiddles with the strap on his bag with his knobby fingers and snickers. “You really don’t take the trains much, do you?”

          Eridan leans towards Sollux, hands on his hips. “A couple a’ times, to see you an’ Kar an’ Kan. We mostly drive.” He shoots a wavering glance at Feferi, who shrugs. “What, is this some new kind a’ train bondin’ fad I should be in the loop about?”

          A small huff escapes Sollux’s lips, causing an acute case of gut rot to tremor through the sea dwellers. Sollux isn’t the kind of guy to huff, except when talking about-

          “It’s a lowblood thing.”

          Feferi casts her eyes down, brows knitting together in an almost pitied way; she looks as though she’s trying to erase her jewelry with her mind. Eridan, on the other hand, presses his lips together and widens his eyes without any thought, like he’s shocked to find out that ten out of eleven of his best friends are lower than him on the hemospectrum.

          “You don’t need to give me those dumb pity looks. The trains are just full of assholes.” Sollux glances back at the station. “I mean, the planet is full of assholes, but the trains are superconcentrated asshole- like, Tide 2X laundry detergent concentration to Alternia’s Gain Delicates.”

          “Gain doesn’t make detergent for delicates,” Eridan says under his breath. Sollux scowls and prods Eridan’s shin with his white shoe.

          “Like you’ve ever done laundry in your life,” he mutters right back. “But yeah, let’s pretend that I didn’t just make such a shitty analogy. It’s just a thing for highblood pricks to pick fights with lowbloods that’ll get culled if they fight back too hard, so I dropped a fuckton of landmine-sized hints at GZ that he should go pick up Tavros.”

          Feferi’s eyes are saucers by the time Sollux is done talking, and even Eridan is feeling a little pang of anger. If it weren’t for half his friends being lowbloods, he wouldn’t even bat an eye. Hell, he might even chuckle, but the thought of Tavros or Sollux getting tormented on a train by a bunch of uncivilized hacks starts to make his lip curl. They aren’t some faceless lowbloods; they’re his friends.

          “Seriously, you can cut out the pity looks.” He snickers. “If you really want to relieve some of that sea dweller guilt, you can buy me new speakers that aren’t tinny little pieces of shit. 258.36 at Electronoshop, _hint hint_.”

          They start walking back to Eridan’s hive in an awkward silence that slowly dissolves as they draw nearer, and by the time they reach the door, they’re chatting and laughing just like they always do.

          Seahorsedad goes crazy upon smelling Sollux’ scent- the yellowblood’s been to Eridan’s hive a couple times before, but over the span of three sweeps- bucking back and forth, nickering shrill and ear-splitting sounds. Eridan grabs his snout in his palm, raising a jeweled finger and hissing a few sharp scolding words until his scaled chest deflates and he shrinks back.

          “Say you’re sorry,” Eridan snaps at his lusus, with firmness that he usually lacks.

          The lusus floats over to Sollux and nuzzles his snout into Sollux’s shirt, making small little grumbles when Sollux awkwardly raises his hand to stroke at the white bumps on his head. Feferi giggles. “I think he likes you, Sollux. That means you can come over _whenever_ you want!”

 

 

          They end up on Eridan’s private beach a little later, soaking up the warm night air. Feferi’s the only one that swims- she’s the only one that really gets any joy from it. She’s in and out of the water like a bullet, running to inspect the sandcastle that her friends are way too old to be getting so into, and then firing back to the ocean to comb for shells that they could use to decorate it with.

          If they were younger, Sollux would have given Eridan nothing but shit for trying to add little flourishes on the sandcastle walls with a stick instead of working on the moat, and they would have fought- not just bickered but honestly fought, over what was the superior way to develop a foot-tall mound of sand.

          It wasn’t any sort of epiphany that caused them to start getting along; when Sollux and Feferi had their flushed fling, they ended up spending more time together than either of them would have liked, and by the mutual end of the matespritship, their insults no longer held any water, thrown punches turned into playful shoves, and sneers to poorly-suppressed smiles. They still bicker like it’s going out of style, but it’s the sort of bickering that keeps them _them_ , the two-toned thread of similarities and differences that stitched them together and dragged them through the mud pit that was growing up.

          Three seashells find their way to the tops of the three towers, not in the exact right colours, but impressively close. Feferi managed to scrounge up two purple shells and a gold conch, along with fistfuls of coloured seaweed that she starts planting around the half-dug moat.

          An hour later, when they’re done their masterpiece and lying in three grey heaps on the shore, and tide is starting to lap at the edge of the castle, they shake off the sand and head back inside.

 

          Eridan’s kitchen is completely stocked with fish and whale blubber and every kind of oceanic beast imaginable, plus at least thirty different kinds of seaweed and box upon box of fancy gourmet food, most of which Sollux has never even heard of, much less tasted. He eats anything that he doesn’t have to cook, or that he can afford on the budget left over from technology and games- mainly frozen processed meat and noodles. He doesn't mind; gourmet food holds no intrigue for him.

          Feferi seems to know what all the mystery food is, as she pulls out a clear bag with some sort of cut up blue scaly thing and throws it at her moirail. “Sardine-ner time!” she yells, making her excited glubbing noise. Boxes and bags fly out of the cupboards, until the two other trolls are almost buried beneath the pile of prospective food.

          “Fef, no offence intended, but your cookin’ is downright harrowin’.”

          Feferi pouts her lips. “Well, mister, why don’t you beach us how to cook, then? That’d  be fun, right Sollux?”

          Sollux stares down at his stomach, which growls back at him, making both of the sea dwellers’ lips to curl into a little smile.

         

          Feferi gets salad duties, much to her disappointment, while Eridan throws a fit over every minute detail that Sollux screws up on the fish.

          “No, Sol, _what are you thinkin_ ’? There’s no way you can have the heat that high and not have the fish turnin’ out all rubbery like, cod dammit, no wonder you’re a fuckin’ twig if you’re this much of a culinary disgrace.”

          Without a word, Sollux steps aside and shoves the spatula into his friend’s hands, who immediately twists at the dials on the stove and fiddles with the pan. Feferi keeps herself busy making the salad into a rainbow piece of art on the plates, humming loudly to herself.

          “Fef, Sol’s ruined the fish. It’s completely over. Dinner is goin’ to be a fuckin’ mess.”

          Feferi bounces her weight from leg to leg. “Sollux lives in the inner city! He’s probably never even had fish before, how do you expect him to cook it all by himshelf?”

          “I was givin’ him all sorts a’ gastronomic tutelage, Fef, if you didn’t hear, but he-“

          A forceful shove into the counter cuts Eridan off. He lets out a yelp as the countertop collides with his stomach, causing him to double over, clutching it in pain.

          “Hey, asshole, would you stop bursting your seedflap over the fucking fish?”

          Sollux is honestly surprised when Eridan doesn’t give a swift punch in his general direction, but instead crosses his arms and purses his lips. Feferi looks up and gives her moirail an acknowledging smile, clearly thinking the same thing.

          Tentatively, with more care than he had taken with the fish, Sollux reaches an arm out to push Eridan’s shirt up to check for bruising, but, as he figured would happen, gets his hands swatted away. Sollux sighs and lolls his head to the side. “What, you want me to kiss it better or something?” He prays to God that he sounds more sarcastic than flirty, but his face gets hot anyway.

 

          They collapse in front of the TV with their plates in seconds, wasting no time digging in. It’s way saltier than anything Sollux is used to, not particularly gross, but not all that pleasurable to eat. He only finishes half of it before he’s full, debating shoving down more to be polite until he remembers that he’s only hanging out with Feferi and Eridan, who’s he trying to impress?

 Feferi cuddles up to her moirail’s shoulder as the opening credits of the movie begin to roll, letting him wrap his cape and arm around her bare shoulders and lolling her head against him once the opening car chase starts.

          Halfway into the second action scene, Feferi shoots up with blazing eyes. The cape flutters off of her shoulders, and she wildly paps on Eridan’s arm.

          “When did you feed Gl’bgolyb last?” she whispers frantically.

          “Just last night, Fef. There’s no way she’s hungry again; it was a fuckin’ huge thing I got. Greedy fucker.”

          Eridan can almost hear Feferi’s heartbeat slow. “It must be something else, then.” Feferi stands up, fumbling around for the lightswitch in the dark. “I’m so sorry buoys, but I’ve got to go. Gl’bgolyb wants something, and it’s really important that I go see her.”

          The two boys nod, getting up to meet Feferi’s open arms. “It was so nice to see you in person again, Sollux! I’m sorry I have to leave so early.”

          Sollux gives his friend a reassuring squeeze. “It’s alright,” he says back. “I know lusii can be a huge pain in the ass.”

          Feferi’s fingers trail slowly down the arms of her friends, leaving a soft lingering pressure on their skin that screams ‘I don’t want to leave you guys’ louder than she ever could behind her soft and sunny voice.

         

          By the time the movie finishes, the sun is already starting to come out, and the elegant draped curtains adorning Eridan’s windows tumble down automatically, strung up as they are on some sort of expensive mechanism. Sollux has been slightly further than half-asleep for most of the end scenes, taking some time to get intimately acquainted with the downy pillows on the couch. The three dirtied plates were removed some time ago by Seahorsedad, leaving the coffee table as polished as it had been before.

          When the curtains are down, the hive seems even bigger and colder than during the night. Light from the cracks in the curtains and the stray lamps left on cast long shadows of extravagant decorations and stone statues, smearing the cool violets and blues of the dark with their yellow glow.

          After the movie ends, silence takes over the hive. With no Feferi to fill the space with chatter, and Sollux half-passed out on the couch, Eridan almost starts to crawl to his respiteblock to put on his pj’s and crawl into the ‘coon for the day. Before he can, however, he’s aware of a weak tugging at his scarf.

          “Drive me to the train station,” Sollux mumbles, half of his voice getting sucked into the pillow.

          “No way, I’m fuckin’ exhausted. Also you’re droolin’ on my good pillows, so that’s really not winning you any points in my books. Just sleep on the couch or somethin’.” He whacks Sollux’s hand off of his scarf. “Or I guess we could share the ‘coon. It’s big enough for two.”

          Sollux starts to shift and roll over until he generates the energy to sit up. “I told you this fucking days ago, ED. I have to be home by tomorrow morning to deal with some bullshit with the mindhoney bees.”

          Eridan sighs louder than he needs to, partly to be melodramatic and partly to make sure that the empty silence won’t take over. “ _Fine_ , but this is a serious favour I’m doing, an’ you owe me in a huge way.”

          Sollux rolls his eyes and reaches over to the end table where he had placed his glasses. As the sky gets brighter, the voices in his head start to get more irritating- most don’t speak directly to him, but broadcast all of their terrified and angered thoughts straight into his mutated brain. As the two make their way into the garage, Sollux swears he hears a familiar voice, but amongst the buzz, he can’t place it.

 

         

          They walk close to each other through the train station, linking their hands together, and though they would both go to the grave swearing that it’s so they don’t get swallowed up by the crowd, the way that Sollux slowly strokes along Eridan’s thumb with his own, the pad of his finger catching on the pink stone of Eridan’s ring and twisting it around, dragging up little electric tingles all the way to the tip of his claw, says otherwise. Eridan’s hand on his is firm, but every time a highblood passes too closely, he gives an involuntary squeeze.

          A passing indigo juts his elbow out to slam into Sollux hard enough that there’ll be mustard coloured bruises in an hour, and his friend that had veered off to pass on Eridan’s side whispers something to the violetblood that makes his fists clench and his sharp teeth gnash together. 

          Eridan wheels around, nearly strangling himself with the way the blue stripes of his scarf twist around his neck. “Fuckin’ dirtlickin’ ingrates,” Eridan hisses to the assailers that have already melded into the crowd, then lets his curled lip fall back down when he turns to his friend, who is cursing quietly, clutching at his ribs. “Sol, you okay?”

          Sollux nods and tries to say something, but only a pained squeak escapes his throat when he straightens up.

          “What’d that douchebag say to you?” Sollux says in a low voice once he manages to get a steady supply of air back into his lungs.

          Eridan shakes his head and scowls. “It’s nothin’, don’t concern yourself with it.” He’s about to say ‘highblood stuff’, but decides that that sounds too condescending, even for him, and lets out a grumble. “Complimentary pailin’. It’s just dumb fuckin’ slang for when a highblood’s courtin’ a lowblood. Fuckin’ rude an’ shitty pun.”

          Sollux has heard the term thrown around a bit with the higher castes that he encounters. He knows what it means- that desperate highbloods can go around ordering lower castes to fill a bucket with them. Back when Eridan was in his genocidal phase and they were sort-of-almost kismesises, he reminded Sollux at least once a day about how their blood colours were complementary, sometimes as a subtle flirtation with some reference to the fine arts, but usually as an insult at how low that placed Sollux, as if it would offend him so badly.

          “The fucks I give already boarded the train to Nobodycaresville, moron. All the hemospectrum bullshit doesn’t really twist my mustardbloody panties.”

          Eridan's pained expression and long silence doesn’t go unnoticed by his friend, who’s reassuringly deadpan face morphs into a scowl. “Oh my God, this is like the ninth time you’ve done this today. I said that you could stop giving me that dumb pity face. Seriously, my life isn’t a huge deathchamber full of piss and shame.” He tugs at the bottom of his shirt. “I mean, not because of my blood.”

          A laugh rises from Eridan’s throat like a bubble, relieving a tiny bit of the pressure in his chest and filling it back up with an awkward empty feeling. “Fuckin’ Fef,” he murmers mostly to himself. “Always goin’ on an’ on about how it fuckin’ sucks that the lowbloods are always bein’ trodden on.”

          The roar from the tracks starts to pick up in volume, and in only a moment, Sollux’s train to the inner city stops in front of them. A rowdy wave of bluebloods starts to pour from a connecting train to swarm the doors of Sollux’s train, completely engulfing the sparse amounts of warmbloods that had previously been hanging around. A few stray comments of “exhibition” and “trip” float amongst the roars of laughter and chatter.

          Sollux’s stomach drops, and he feels his heartbeat quicken against his preferred judgement. “I should…go,” he tries to say, but his voice cracks partway through, making him cringe in response. He’s not a helpless grub; he should _not_ be feeling this scared about boarding a train to go home.

          Eridan’s eyes wander obviously to the blue crowd. “You gonna be okay? Be honest with me here, ‘cause I’d feel like a real ass if somethin’ happened.”

          The yellowblood stays frozen, save for the subtle and autonomous reaction of his head slowly shaking from side to side. He snaps out of his daze when he feels himself pull their bodies into a tight-gripped hug, their minute height difference lending itself well to Eridan breathing softly into Sollux’s ear, making his heart pump his yellow blood twice as fast. Sollux is as hot blooded as Alternians come, always fanning himself, while Eridan is just the opposite- though Feferi is never cold in her tanktop, Eridan can’t stand to be without long sleeves and a scarf, even when he sleeps. Sollux’s body is a furnace against him, and Eridan’s is an ice box, even his breath in Sollux’s ear is enough to feel like a cool breeze, soothing him gently until his guts stop twisting around inside.

          Eridan shifts his arms around between them without breaking the hug, pulling them back just before Sollux is engulfed by the soft cool fabric of the sea dweller’s cape. “Just to let them know that they’ll have me to deal with if they cause you any trouble,” he says, and breaks their bodies apart to fiddle with the clasp on his cape to make it fit Sollux’s narrow shoulders.

          “I bet I look like a massive tool, ED,” Sollux says back, batting Eridan’s hands away to fix the clasp himself and trying with all his might to keep his grin looking smug, but failing.

          “It’s an elegant way a’ showin’ off my royalty status; show a little respect.”

          “I guess if the point is to make you look like Lord Asshole, ruler of the douchebags, point made.”

          The engines of the train spring to life, and the boisterous citizens all scurry around like ants after their hill got kicked.

          “Gotta run,” Sollux says, voice clear and confident this time around- even having a little bit of contentment taking over the usual grumpiness.

          Eridan pulls him in for another hug. “I’m glad you came.”

          Maybe on a different day, Sollux would have responded with a curt nod and fled off to the safety of his home, where he could be behind a computer and not worry about his face flushing gold and his lips quirking too far up, but today is not that day, and instead, he doesn’t jerk his arms away, just pulls his head back until their noses are almost touching and presses a feather-light, barely-there peck on the violetblood’s lips.

          “Me too,” he says, trying hard not to breathe all over Eridan’s face. “And thanks for…” He trails off to let his thoughts defragment in his brain. Bare fingers graze the rich violet fabric cascading next to them, until they’re distracted by ringed ones weaving between them, making Eridan’s mouth curve into the softest smile Sollux has seen on him in ages.

“Thanks.”


	2. The Assessments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For simplicity's sake: X messaged Y refers to texting, and trolling is over the computer. It's not really important to the story, but I thought I'd mention it.
> 
> This is my first time attempting to format a pesterlog, and I had A LOT of trouble getting it to work, but don't hesitate to let me know if I've messed something up.  
> Actually, don't hesitate to let me know anything! It's nice to know what I'm doing right/wrong, and your feedback is really important to me.

 

* * *

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

  
CG: YOU BETTER HAVE GOTTEN YOUR PATHETIC ASS INTO GEAR AND SERVED THAT ASSHOLE UP A DOUBLE SERVING OF SMOOCH A LA SCRAWNY AWKWARDNESS.   
CG: SERIOUSLY DUDE, HOW DID IT GO?  
CG: I'VE BEEN SITTING HERE WAITING TO RANK YOUR FAILURES FROM A SCALE OF AUTISTIC BEARDLICKER TO SEEDFLAP POUNDING MANGRIT.  
CG: NOT THAT YOU'LL GET ANYWHERE NEAR THE LATTER, BECAUSE UNFORTUNATELY YOU'RE YOU.  
TA: iif you MU2T know, ii don't thiink he liike2 me iin that way, okay?  
CG: WHAT?  
CG: NO, THIS IS NOT HOW IT GOES. DO YOU REALIZE WHO WE'RE TAKING ABOUT HERE? ERIDAN LIKES EVERYBODY IN THAT FUCKING WAY.  
TA: do you not realiize that'2 the problem here, he 2eemed 2o glad that 2OMEONE wa2 holdiing hii2 fuckiing hand that he diidn't even giive a 2hiit who'2 ugly miitt wa2 attached to hii2. iif he wa2 2o 2toked two be holdiing hand2 with me, he would have been all over iit liike do you even remember when he 2tarted datiing FF liike a biiliion 2weep2 ago? he wa2 ju2t con2tantly rubbiing hii2 face all over her liike hii2 face wa2 oiintment and 2he wa2 a chafed iinner thiigh.  
CG: OKAY, BARRING THE FACT THAT THAT IS AND WAS FUCKING GROSS, ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT ALL YOU DID WAS HOLD HANDS? WE TALKED ABOUT THIS FOR *FOUR FUCKING HOURS*.  
TA: ii kii22ed hiim 2marta22 and iit wa2 the biigge2t faiilure 2iince you were hatched.  
TA: he ju2t kiind of 2tood there and took it he diidn't even 2ay anythiing.  
TA: ju2t put the whole thiing down a2 a ma22iive faiilure and fuckiing drop iit.  
CG: NO WAY. YOU HAVE BEEN DESPERATE FOR HIS GILL COVERED ASS FOR ALMOST A FULL SWEEP, AND I AM GOING TO MAKE SURE THAT ASS IS SWIFTLY DELIVERED INTO YOUR HANDS.  
TA: HE DOE2N'T WANT ME KK JU2T FUCKIING DROP IIT.  
TA: iit's bad enough haviing hiim 2end me heart2 every two 2econds, ii don't need you on my ca2e remiinding me of how unde2iirable and awful ii am.  
CG: I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU A SECOND TO READ YOUR MESSAGE AND SLOWLY REALIZE JUST HOW ASSPANNED YOU ARE.  
CG: SINCE WHEN DOES '<3" TRANSLATE TO 'I DON'T WANT YOU, FUCKER'?  
TA: becau2e ii 2eriiou2ly doubt he actually want2 to be mate2priit2 wiith me.  
TA: he'2 a fuckiing royal-v, liike ii could liiterally be the pii22blood that liick2 hii2 boot2 clean every 2unrii2e and everybody know2 iit e2peciially hiim.  
TA: be2iide2, he would make iit very clear iif he wanted me and he ha2n't.  
CG: EXCEPT FOR THE FUCKING SPAM OF HEARTS IN YOUR UNGRATEFUL DIRECTION.  
TA: they're piity heart2 KK.  
CG: THAT'S THE POINT, DUMBASS.  
TA: that'2 not what ii meant. they're heart2 from 2econd hand embarra22ment and de2peratiion.  
CG: I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO YOU.  
CG: YOU ARE SO FUCKING STUPID THAT I'VE STARTED TO SHAKE.  
CG: I CAN'T EVEN THINK OF ANY KIND OF INSULT THAT CAN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE THE REVOLUTIONARY FUCKUPITUDE THAT IS SOLLUX CAPTOR.  
TA: yeah well neiither can ii.  
CG: YOU ARE THE MOST FRUSTRATING PIECE OF FUCKING ASS BEAN CURD TO EVER WAFT INTO MY CARTILIDGE NUB.  
CG: JUST SEND A FUCKING HEART BACK.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] has blocked twinArmageddons [TA]

* * *

  
caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 15 hours ago

CA: hey   
CA: im glad you came out to vvisit it wwas a blast   
CA: <3

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 7 hours ago

CA: im trying not to be too forwward here   
CA: i apparently come across as a bit eager at times WWHICH IS HOGSHIT i am nothin a the sort dont listen to kar an kan theyre just fuckin loungin in a crib made a bee ess  
CA: its just hard all this quadrant rubbish you knoww its tough to deal wwith ehehehehe  
CA: look at that i evven did your wweird laugh youre just rubbin off on me that much  
CA: but i dunno if you wwant to be matesprits i think that wwould be okay  
CA: you knoww i like you like a lot youve been my best friend aside from fef but moirails dont count for a wwhile noww  
CA: i nevver really thought about havvin that kind a relationship wwith you but i keep thinkin about it an i think wwe could maybe have somethin  
CA: <3  
  
caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 4 hours ago

CA: i swwear to cod youd better be wwrapped up in somethin important not just asanine gaming shit or i wwill flip cold black right here an noww   
CA: <3/<3<  
  
caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 3 hours ago

CA: and if you are dodging my messages it is so ovver betwween us   
  
caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 1 hour ago

CA: fuck you   
CA: go palm your bulge ovver a club sandwwich you licentious mustard wwanton  
  
cuttlefishCuller [CC] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 30 minutes ago

CC: I t)(oug)(t you should know that -Eridan is R-E-ELLY MAD at you! 38(   
CC: I don't t)(ink you did anyt)(ing t)(ough...  
CC: )(e is just being a BIG FIS)(Y DRAMA QU-E-EN!

* * *

 

 

**The Assessments**

The inner city is swarmed with tourists, all young trolls only one day away from becoming of age, staying in the various dorms and hotels reserved for those awaiting assessment.

          After much fighting, they all agreed on Terezi’s hotel room; it’s big enough that twelve trolls can fit comfortably, but would still allow Aradia and Tavros to go through the lobby without a rampart of searing glares.

          Even with the twelve of them in the room, they’re split off in groups, some on the couch, some in the kitchen, and some lounging in clothes piles on the floor; it’s eerily silent. There are novels of unspoken words hanging in the air, a zoo of elephants trampling whoever catches a glimpse of Karkat and Tavros.

          Equius seems to know the most about coming of age, and he’s happy to indulge them all in Q&A sessions, even if his voice is excited in a way that makes the whole spectrum of blood in the room boil.

          “It is quite a long process for those of more… humble hemostatus. We are to line up according to caste, and the imperial drones will work their way down the line, assessing us on our mental and physical health.”

          Vriska purses her lips. Nobody’s ever seen her quite like this, nerved up and insecure. “How do the loser drones grade physical health?”

          Behind his shades, Equius looks down at the ground, blue blush creeping up in shame. “I’m not sure.”

          Vriska slumps back down next to Terezi, who has the exact same concern, and lets her one eye flicker around the room, making silent judgement calls. Aradia commented that she might not bother showing up, being immune from the immediate and torturous culling that would result, given that she’s already dead, Tavros is culled, Sollux is fine, Karkat is _definitely_ culled, Nepeta’s fine, Kanaya’s fine, Terezi and herself are in a devastating and completely awfully stressful limbo with their disabilities, Equius is fine, Gamzee is… well, Vriska’s not even sure what the drones are going to make of Gamzee. He’s too high (ha!) to get an instant cull, yet his thinkpan is too fucked up for them to just leave him be. Eridan’s safe as well; even if he was missing an arm and an eye, a violet getting culled is the kind of thing that gets run to death in tabloid headlines for half a dark season, and doubly so for Feferi.

         

          Sollux is isolating himself even more than usual, sitting off in the kitchenette rubbing his temples and downing cup after cup of ice water. Vriska’s been noticing Karkat twitching his body towards the kitchen all night, like he’s going to get up and sit next to his best friend, but he always jerks back and stays put, silent and awkward just like the rest of them.

          Since she’s always the first to do anything scary, Vriska plops herself down at the chair across from Sollux.

          “Heeey, spooky brain. Got a minute to stop massaging your brain aneurysm?”

          “Piss off,” he grumbles, not even looking up. “You’re the last person I want to talk to.”

          A long sigh is pushed out of Vriska’s blue lips. “Loook, I just want to know if you’ve heard me. You know, hanging out with those ‘voices of the doomed’ that make you such a grumbly recluse?”

          “You know it won’t change anything. That’s the thing with voices of the doomed. They’re doomed.” He downs another cup of water then gets up to refill, swirling the ice around.

          Vriska slides her chair back and stomps away, crossing her arms and flipping her hair. She comes to a halt in front of Terezi. “Dumbass won’t tell me anything. Your turn.”

          Terezi just sighs and flips over, digging herself deeper into the couch cushions and coming to face a docile looking Gamzee who is miles away, talking to himself about miracles and the stars and colours.

          “Fine, if you want to be like that. I guess we’ll _see_ what happens tomorrow." She stops to flash a wicked grin full of sharp teeth.  "Or, at least, I will.”

          In an instant, Terezi springs up, using her cane to shove Vriska’s throat back to the wall. “We’re supposed to be different,” she says in a calm voice, but it quickly gains agitation. “Everybody else has friends with blood all the same, but we’re a pack of rainbow skittles, Vriska. We're different. We're _special_.”

          Vriska’s lip curls in indignation. She leans her body against the cane, accepting the steady pressure on her neck as payment for her defiance. “Are you going to bring in some lame ‘fate’ bullshit? You’re not _really_ going to say that the reason that ‘fate’ brought gross rustbloods and bluebloods like us together with a couple of fishy princesses and Karkat is because we have some higher purpose, are you? Like we’re _destined_ for more?” She snarls out a condescending laugh.

          Terezi presses her cane in and narrows her glassy red eyes, but doesn’t say a word.

          “Leave it, Terezi. You and Vriska’ll be fine.”

          Terezi slowly eases up on her cane, moving to face Karkat. “Let me smell your blood,” she says, with a little note of hope. “Just once.”

          Karkat rolls his eyes, which are very slowly taking on his shade of cherry red, but at their current stage of dilution, are identical to what Aradia’s would look like, if she actually had irises. “Terezi, everybody knows what my fucking blood colour is by now. It’s red, okay? Case closed, send Sherlock back to sleuth island for glancing at my eyes for two fucking seconds.”

          Vriska laughs, welcoming the distraction and slinking out from behind the cane. “Come on, you wouldn’t be such a hemonomous baby if that was the full story. Poor Aradia would be so insulted!”

          Somehow, Equius finds his way to the space between Vriska and Terezi. “I believe that that would be an apt reason to be ashamed. I myself would be appalled to find such filth inside of my veins.”

          “Equius! I thought I told you to stop saying rude things like that!”

          Equius flushes deep blue once he catches sight of Feferi. Sweat beads up on his face, and in an instant, it’s pouring down his cheeks and dripping off of his jaw. The four trolls immediately jump back with a resounding mutter of disgust, which only aggravates the situation, and through muttered apologies and pleas for a towel, Nepeta breaks her way into the circle, delivering a fluffy stack of hotel towels that will never be the same.

          And just like that, they can pretend for a second that they’re kids again. Aradia’s settled at the table with Sollux, Tavros and Gamzee are chatting and rapping and playing some card game, and Kanaya’s cross-legged on the floor with Eridan, looking both frustrated and amused as he attempts to jab thread through the eye of a needle to help her with the ripped skirt piled in front of them.

          Equius glances over at Gamzee nervously, making sure that the highblood isn’t looking when he graciously nods in response to Feferi. It wouldn’t matter even if he was-  Gamzee is far from enlightened enough to care about the pointlessly outdated land dweller/sea dweller rivalry that tends to run circles around itself, since the land dwellers ended up obeying the ruling class every single time, but Equius has a bad habit of sweating over what highbloods to obey and when.

          Through a convoluted series of trollings, Eridan and Gamzee had once ended up fighting over who got to play a dumb half RP half LARP game with Equius, instead of going with the logical choice of playing it together. They had turned to the person in nearest proximity, as Feferi had been uninterested. It wasn’t entirely fair, since Gamzee’s the furthest thing from forceful and Eridan’s the furthest thing from easygoing and harassed Equius for days with long messages that used the words ‘royalty’, ‘violet’, and ‘superior’ at least fifty times each, whereas Gamzee’s tended to be more along the lines of “:o(“.

          Despite the underhanded tactics that had Feferi shaking her head, she had put it down as a win for everybody, dreaming up great scenarios of Equius coming to understand sea dwellers and Eridan understanding land dwellers through their heavy-fueled debates- which would be mainly petty and immature despite both trolls being well educated in political and historical matters. She never found out if it actually happened, but they started chatting more often, despite having to hear monologues of Eridan deciding if ‘Eq’ or ‘Equi’ was the superior shorthand.

 

          After the blow-up with Terezi, Karkat holes himself up in the corner, idling the time by flipping through the Young Alternian’s Survival Guide. It's not going to help him, he knows- it's either accept his fate and be culled, or run away and be tortured when he is inevitably caught. He's squirreled his time away too much already to run, a lingering part of him clinging to a stupid desire to spend one last time with his friends. He’s about the throw the damn book down in disgust at it's cheerful advice for staying "in your place", when the words blacken as a shadow engulfs him.

          “Um, Karkat?” Nepeta gulps and twirls her blue tail around. “I’m wondering if I can sit down with the sad-looking crab?”

          Nepeta’s far different in person, especially after growing up into a surprisingly good-looking troll, because she ditches the third person role playing and instead acts a lot of it out herself. It was weird at first to have Nepeta purr and curl into a ball on a whim, but they’re all so weird and fucked up that Karkat got over it pretty fast, even if they don’t hang out as much as he’d like.

          He’s known about her shallow little ancestor-inspired crush since they were six. Putting on a forced semi-smile, he pats the space next to him.

          “The crabby troll would be shitting excitement out of his hear-holes if she did.”

          It almost makes him go flushed on the spot instead of annoyed to see how her face lights up and she plops down, nuzzling her face into his shoulder and making fake purring sounds. More than that though, it makes him not want to die.

          “Karkitty, I can I tell you a secret? I purromise I’ll even stop punning just so you know that this is one hundred purrcent real, kay?” She pulls a drawing from the pocket of her coat, uncrinkling it and placing it on Karkat’s lap. When he sees it, his stomach drops and the backs of his eyes start to burn. It’s an old drawing, he can tell from how much she’s gotten better over the sweeps, of her and him holding hands with a big red heart above them. “I’ve always wanted to be flushed with you, even since we were little.” She straightens her hat. “Not just because of that thing with our ancestors I told you about. The truth is, I always thought that you were the cutest little kitty. And every time you would yell about hating yourself, I wanted to pounce in and tell you that none of that was true. That you’re perfect just the way you are.” Her eyes grow wide and the slightest bit fraught as she speaks.

          “Nepeta…” he breathes, only because he can’t say anything else.

          “Cause, see, you were there for me when Pounce went missing. You stayed up all day trying to hack Trollian to send out a missing kitty ad to every single troll that logged on, and when you couldn’t quite do it, you didn’t give up. You went straight to Sollux and made him help, too.”

          “Yeah, then the bastard tacked on ‘PS Karkat Vantas is a smelly pile of old slime.’”

          Nepeta giggles, a bright sound that’s so full of life that Karkat feels his heart harden in jealousy. “But we found her! And I have you to thank. You never give up on anybody. You've always been here for me. And that… that’s why I like you.”

Karkat tucks his head down so his chin is resing on his chest and gives a short puff of air in place of a laugh to cover up the red welling up in his eyes. 'You're perfect just the way you are' bounces back and forth through the inside of his brain that will be dead by tomorrow, and he weaves their fingers together and looks Nepeta in the eye, eyes wide with disbelief that those words could even come from somebody with such sincerity. As he pulls her in close, he can feel the fur of her hat tickling his scalp, and he kisses her until he swears they’re both shitting rainbows and unicorns.

         

         

          “What are you hearing?”

          Aradia’s dead voice is strangely calming, cutting through the emotional theatrics of the doomed trolls currently multiplying and throwing hissy fits in Sollux’s brain like a dull knife, dousing him in cold water until he can pry himself from the voices long enough to drown them out in his own emotional theatrics flooding from the other side of his brain.

          “KK. Just saying ‘I don’t want to die, don’t let me die, I’m not ready, not when I've just started to not hate myself’ over and over.” It’s the loudest voice, or maybe just because the raspy tone is so familiar to Sollux, but it’s been giving him the shakes all night. He gets it. He knows that his childhood friend is getting culled with 99.99 percent certainty tomorrow, and it’s starting to piss him off how his awful excuse for a brain is trying to hammer that home.

          “It’s stressing you out.”

          “Yes, AA, kind of funny what the horrified screams of a hopeless friend are doing to me, ‘cause normally they make me laugh.”

          Aradia slides another cup of ice water to him. “Maybe you should stop being sad about it. Can you stop being sad? I don’t remember.”

          Sollux slams his head down to the table. When Aradia was alive, she had a strange way of calming down the voices, talking him through it and dispelling the fear that came with crazy muttering echoing deep in the confines of his skull. “Are you ever going to stop being a ghost and come back to life?”

          “If I could, I might want to. But life has rules. The dead don’t come back, Sollux.”

 

 

          Equius holds Nepeta’s hand the whole way to the Parliamentoring Building, using the lightest touch he can even with the anti-STRONG glove he had covertly slipped on. He’s always so proud of his strength, but it inverts itself into deep shame when he thinks of the few occasions when he’d hurt his moirail by accident- crushing her hand, bruising her rubs in a hug- none too serious, but enough that they’d had to grow accustomed to not indulging in the physical affection so characteristic of pale romance. He’d seen her eyes get wide and pained with jealousy upon seeing Eridan and Feferi cuddling and kissing each other’s cheeks, holding hands with no problem except for their jewelry knotting together, so he’d spent countless hours slaving over robotics, trying to find a way to supress his own strength.

          The building is at the top of a tall hill, surrounded on three sides with a beautiful brick wall topped with a hideous barbed wire loop, with stairs leading the way up to a barricade of drones to prevent escape.

          The drones kindly make way for trolls that behave, as they all do, looking almost kind holding the culling forks branded by the empress herself. A long single-file line of trolls roughly the same age as the moirails acts as a second barrier to the building, as the trolls face the city they overlook with solemn and anxious faces. Thirteen coloured disks ranging from burgundy to fuchsia act as guides to the line-up, and as they walk down the line to their spots, they pass by a one-troll wide gap where the lime disk is.

          “Stand within the olives. Make sure you don’t cross over into the lime area or the jade area.”

          Nepeta taps her chin. “Jade… I can’t remember exactly what that one looks like.”

          “Don’t pass Kanaya. It’s time for me to go stand with the indigos, but you’ll see me walk by with the other passing trolls in a while. You will meet me back in my hotel room when you’re done.”

          Nepeta pounces on him, and he goes rigid trying not to hug her back without his de-strengthening shirt on. “And I wish my meowrail good luck on the tests!”

 

 

          As expected, Aradia doesn’t show up. Or- perhaps that’s misleading. Aradia is there, floating next to Tavros, but she only shows herself to the eleven trolls that have grown up with her, the eleven trolls that have teased and taunted and hurt and nurtured and aided and loved each other in spiraling patterns, flipping and ascending beyond quadrants hand in hand for the past ten sweeps. Terezi might be right. Maybe they are different, but it doesn’t matter now. Fate doesn’t want them to shine their rainbow over the filthy trenches of life any longer.

          Trolls are required to walk down the line, either showing off their new adult status to all the lower-blooded trolls as they make their way down the steps into their new life, or sulk with a culling drone at their side, wearing a black bandana around their neck as they take the long loop around to the back of the building where they are to be culled. Their blood will be drained out for materials, their horns cut off to make tools from, and their bodies trucked out into the nearest forest for the fauna to consume. They’ll be used, and then erased, a process that Aradia is blessed enough to not have to go through. Her singed body was simply consumed by the farm animals around her rural hive, though her spirit had understandably vacated the premises, dragging Sollux with her to spare him the pain of watching. It's beautiful to think about, how she had become part of the cycle of life and death that used to fuel her passion, though it fills her with the faded remnants of bitterness to still be tied to the planet as a literal ghost of her former self. She's seen the afterlife or whatever the half-metaphorical smoke behind the glass wall is, but has been squandering her own afterlife away in futile attempts to continue living. 

 

          Feferi and Eridan are the first two to leave, the only two sea dwellers to come of age this sweep. The drones don’t seem to mind them walking side by side instead of single file, nor do the two adult highbloods overseeing the process, and lanky adult snaps a couple pictures of the royals as they pass from behind a pillar, but they don’t notice. The sea dwellers give little nods as they pass by their friends, and Feferi gives a wave as she passes Kanaya and Sollux that they can’t return without being scolded- possibly even culled in Sollux’s case. Karkat stands at the very end of the line, with the Burgundies. Though he had debated spending his last moments being beside one of his friends, he can’t bear the thought of walking past anybody with a culling drone at his side and cherry red dripping from the tip of his finger.

 

          There are three purplebloods including Gamzee, all of whom walk away- Gamzee with a white band and one of the Subjuggalators escorting him into the Parliamentoring building.

          Larger and larger crowds of trolls start to pass by, with Equius being amongst ten and Vriska with thirty, safe and sound save for two Ceruleans with nothing visibly wrong- disobedient, likely. How Vriska managed to escape culling with disabilities that visible is hard to imagine, but her mind-control powers might be the case. She can’t control the Subjuggalators or the drones, but they like highbloods with powers.

          There are many teals, over fifty, and amongst them, Aradia can pick out the blind red eyes, sans glasses, of Terezi Pyrope, donning a black band over her throat as she is escorted around to be culled. From further down the line, as the tealblood passes, Aradia can just pick out the sound of Karkat whispering “Be with you soon, ‘Rez.”

 

          Kanaya, Nepeta and Sollux all go by safely; Sollux gets a bright sunny yellow tag setting him apart from the other hundred-some yellows as a very high-powered psionic. He’s not old nor trained enough to be sold into slavery, but a pack of hungry bluebloods observing at the bottom of the steps scan him over from horns to shoes again and again, tripping over themselves to call dibs.

          One by one, the drones file through the Bronzes, and Tavros starts to shake in his chair. “You don’t, have to stay with me, for the whole, uh, process. But, thanks, if you will.”  

          Aradia massages his shoulders. “I don’t mind. Would it make you feel better if I stayed with you?”

          Tavros nods, and watery orange tears start to steam down his face. “I’m going to miss being alive, I think. I’m probably going to miss Tinkerbull the most, um, you, as well, and Gamzee, mainly, even though we just spent three days kicking back, in his hive.” More tears start to pour down, but his voice stays even. There’s only four trolls until the drones get to him, and his voice is getting frantic. “I’ll miss Vriska, even, and Karkat shouting, and, everybody, really.” Tavros pauses to wipe the tears and sob into his forearm; it’s so pitiable that Aradia has to wrap her arms around him.

“Uh, Aradia, do you think you could tell everybody that I’m really happy I met them? I never really got to say goodbye, because I didn’t want to be, uh, a downer. But they made these ten sweeps really, really fun, and really exciting, even though sometimes it was in a bad way. I think, though, I’m glad. And, I wish my life wasn’t, you know, ending right now, but, it’s been a good life. Full of ill beats and good times.”

          He stops just as the drone comes to rest in front of him. “Hand,” the drone says, and Tavros gives his shaking hand to be pricked. A few drops of bronze blood blossom out, and the drone writes down a couple of things. “Do ten jumping jacks.”

          Tavros shakes his head, more tears coming out. “I, um, can’t. I’m, uh, paralyzed.”

          The drone writes more things down and pulls a black band from the pile on its belt. It ushers another over, which grabs onto Tavros’s chair and drags it along until they’re around the back of the building.

 

          Aradia doesn’t want to see, but horror is largely a leftover emotion from when she was alive. It’s strange, being a ghost. She wants to bring Tavros peace, yet she won’t achieve anything from it, not even satisfaction. Or would she? It doesn’t matter, really, though nothing really does. If she has emotions, it doesn’t matter if they sway her decisions or not, because she doesn’t care. Everything seems so futile when the remains of Terezi’s body are dumped unceremoniously in a pile not ten steps away, skin pale with death and her clothing drenched in teal, teal all over the ground in puddles where her horns used to be. Her hair was lopped off so the drones could dig deep into the base of her skull to uproot the horns, leaving her once pretty head with patchy bald spots. Her red eyes are open, but glazed over. Each of the bodies has three holes through their chests from the culling fork, providing a quick end.

          That’s why Karkat showed up instead of running. The quick end is a thank you note to the culled, as opposed to the alternative, that is, the culled having their body desecrated _before_ they’re dead. Karkat has suffered enough abuse from his own mind- maybe he longed for a quick end after all, or maybe Aradia is just thinking that to make it less painful (but is it pain? Is it a feeling, or just a memory?)

          Before Tavros can see, Aradia sends the pile of bodies crashing over Terezi’s, hiding it from view.

          “I’ll find you,” she whispers as he gets wheeled up to the fork. “I’ll find your ghosts.”

          He doesn’t scream when the fork pierces his chest, but he gasps, eyes growing so, so wide, and he slumps down deeper into the chair, becoming engulfed in bronze blood until he’s barely discernible from the others- just another body in the pile.


	3. Glowing Rocks and Glowering Friends

            There’s a buzz of excitement around the city, marred with annoyance as the new adults chitter to their friends about their new hives and first jobs, midbloods bitching about having to apply for a transfer and highbloods complaining about having to go to formal classes. They’re all to live in the city now, to grease the wheels of society in the ways that they’re told. Though exciting, most are used to having neighbours and trekking through crowds of assholes, save for Kanaya and Nepeta, and Aradia spends most of her time free-floating place to place, with no need for sleep. Eridan and Feferi are largely exempt from the expectations and assignments dictated by the empire. Instead of a form asking what their preferred vocation would be, they recieved a stack of blueprints from carpenter drones with the notion that they would receive custom built palaces on the water. The rest move into pre-built hives, almost identical in presentation to the ones they spent their youth in, ranging from Equius and Vriska’s beautiful vistas to Sollux’s dingy block in a communal hive stem.

 

          Both Eridan and Feferi get massive penthive suites in the twin towers of the Harlight Inn, the best hotel on all of Alternia, while their forms are processed and their hives start production. The view overlooks the beach on one side, the other overlooking office buildings where bluebloods spend their nights ordering around greens and barking at browns to bring them lunch. Only the highest quality restaurants dot the streets around the hotel, ones with signs saying “Yellows and below need not enter”, some with an asterisk with exemptions for slaves accompanied by their owner, so long as they sit on the floor. There’s tons of little shops, too- a few clothing boutiques for those that actually care about fashion. In a stroke of luck, Kanaya had gotten her sweep of mandatory work as a stylist at one of them, situated near a sweet shop where Nepeta had been assigned to. Equius and Vriska are off at their private academies, both for the military, Vriska for piloting a ship and Equius for doing what he does best.

          Kanaya and Nepeta bought a charming two-story hive as far from the city as they are allowed. Nepeta sleeps in the cool, dark basement where it reminds her of her cave, and Kanaya on the second floor, sometimes even on the roof to feel the rays of the sun on her sopor-glistening skin, though she’d deny it. The bustle of city life is foreign to them, and they gladly welcome the long commute to work if it means that they can be a little more isolated.  

          The Capital City is larger than any other city on Alternia, not that there are many, home to the Condesce herself when she returns from her journeys, and the centre of all Alternian happenings. It’s situated on the water, getting humid and unbearably hot during the summers of the dim seasons. The further from the water, the closer the slums get, until the peripheries are just alleyways and squatter’s shacks for reds. Sollux managed to get an apartment in the greener side of the city, in a neighbourhood where there aren’t trolls selling “magic” blood in vials on every corner. It means he’s a few minutes closer to the job he was assigned to- after receiving a swift rejection on his obvious proposal to do something computer-related, he had been seemingly arbitrariy assigned to the Volatile Material Caves right on the water.

 

          The caves smell strongly of smoke and salt and sweat, and so do the pile of workers lounging outside the entrance, beside the only inorganic looking structure: a row of steel lockers jammed into a cranny in the cave wall. The benches that they lounge on are long stones pushed into place, though given the lack of track markes, they may have been floated. They’re almost all yellowbloods, with an olive with glazed over eyes that could rival Gamzee’s and a couple of bronzes thrown in the mix. Most are visibly older than Sollux, not that trolls age past maturity until right before they expire, but Sollux’s ten sweeps isn’t quite enough time to sharpen his jawbone and fill out his shoulders like the trolls before him.

          As he walks up to the group, debating just walking right by them and finding whoever’s in charge, tall and stocky yellow with bone-straight horns looks up.

          “You must be the new guy,” he says, in a hoarse yet warm voice. A couple others look up. “You just turn?” His cheeks are chubby, discoloured with blotches of yellow, and he has scraggles of facial hair down his cheeks.

          Sollux is about to say something along the lines of ‘obviously’, but the smarter half of his brain pushes him to make a decent first impression. Instead, he nods. “Yeah. Sollux Captor.” He doesn’t hold out his hand.

          The straight-horn troll snickers. “Damn, Captor. That’s quite the way of talking.”

          “God help you if you ever meet my friends.” He makes a note to pull his tongue back as he says the last word, making the plural stronger. He knows that straight-horns is probably just being a dick; Sollux’s lisp has always been soft, but as his fangs grew in, it became hardly noteworthy. Noticeable, sure, but nobody had made fun of it in ages save for Karkat.

          _Karkat_. Sollux shoves the name out of his head as fast as he can to stop his chest from tightening. After the assessments, he had passed by where Vriska was clutching Kanaya’s shoulders, doing her damnedest to make sure nobody could tell that she was crying, past a stonefaced Equius engulfing Nepeta in a firm embrace. His eyes were peeled for Aradia on the way, but she was nowhere to be found.

          He had agreed to meet Eridan and Feferi outside a coffee shop close by. They were both shamelessly bawling their eyes out like wigglers with a dead lusus, hardly even noticing Sollux through the purple haze of their own tears, and as soon as Feferi’s wide, pleading eyes met his own, he broke down too, thinking of romcoms and shitty viruses, screamed curses that were so hollow, then letting his mind drift off to being called Mr. Appleberry blast, and told he smelled like mustard when he got a cold and his eyes wouldn’t stop watering and he had a pile of tissues the size of an indigo’s hive. He kept thinking of them, replaying every memory of Tavros begging him to play fiduspawn, which he only did a couple of times despite them living five minutes from each other. Sollux never admitted that it was kind of fun, and now he’ll never get the chance. He wishes he would have said goodbye.

          “You alright, Captor? Didn’t hit too close to home, did it?” The guy gives a booming, throaty laugh and throws on a showy accent. “At least yeh talk better than any glubbin’ swimmer I ever heard a’” The rest of the workers chuckle along with him, bodies relaxed and casual. “Mytran, by the way. I’ll be training you up so you can get up in unholy hours of the morning to come to this shithole for sweeps and sweeps like the rest of us,” his voice is far too cheery as he speaks.

          Sollux’s top lip curls involuntarily. “Sounds like paradise.”

          Mytran laughs and pats Sollux on the shoulder. “Hey, welcome to the rest of your life, Captor.”

         

          Sollux gets fitted with a pile of well-worn equipment: rubber boots a few sizes too big, stiff thick gloves, a waterproof jacket, and a hard hat with three different flashlights built in.

          “Not the hardest job in the world,” Mytran says. “The stuff we’re looking for is glowing orange rocks, about the size of a boulder, give or take. It’s volatile as all hell, hence the job description, so don’t use psionics to pick it up. Once you got one, roll it outside. We’ll teach you how to stabilize them another day once you get eased into this.”

         

          As it turns out, a boulder sized chunk of rock is about twice Sollux’s body weight, and he’s essentially useless without psionics at his non-existent fitness level. His entire body leaned against the rock is enough to roll it an inch and a half before Sollux’s feet are uprooted from the loose dirt and he slides back instead.

          The other workers separated off into their own sections of the dark cave, their only sign of life being the far off echoes of grunts and scraping of boulders.

          “Fucking dumbass drones,” he mutters into the abysmal air, throwing himself against the rock again and getting it to move about a foot. “Why the fuck would they pick me for this?”

          Through the dark and engulfing silence of the cave, a harsh voice rings out. “Captor,” she barks, less of a question and more of a statement, so devoid of warmth that Sollux actually shivers.

          “Yeah?” he says back, and is surprised at how scratchy his voice got.

          “Leave it. Come back outside where you can do something useful."

         

          He follows her footsteps blindly until they’re outside. It’s still early in the night, judging by the sky’s colour, even if it feels like it should be halfway through the day. The view from outside the cave is stunning, apart from all the rough boulders piled around. They’re on the ocean, tucked on a little peninsula but with a good enough view of a sea dweller palace, a huge and half-submerged marble building with sharp pointed spires and tall glass towers. Sollux can see Feferi’s penthouse in the Harlight, obscuring Eridan’s. The Harlight in the Capital City is two giant towers side by side, with bridges connecting them on some of the floors. They have a view directly of the water, of all the ships importing things or leaving for the military base, sometimes full of blueblooded travellers on vacation, sometimes full of warmblooded workers immigrating from the other provinces. Reflections of stars mar the water’s surface, constellations warping with the gentle lap of navy blue waves against the fortress of stone and rock that comprise the mainland.

          A blast of hot, humid air hits Sollux as he exits the cave, clinging onto his sweat-soaked shirt and making him even more uncomfortable, shortly followed by a nose full of fresh smelling saltiness, a smell that was once associated with building sandcastles on Eridan’s beach and wading in the ocean with Feferi at his side. When he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the lap of cool water around his ankles, Feferi’s hand in his, when she dragged him out further and further until he yielded to her will and let the water soak through the knees of his rolled-up jeans, then the legs, until it was slapping at the hem of his shirt. He had frozen that time, leaning back to stop her from pulling, and started to go back to the shore.

          Aradia had been there that day, alive because they were still dumb kids. Eridan wasn’t, choosing instead to sulk in his hive in a way that had previously filled Sollux with rage and hate but now gives him little sparks of pity, despite knowing that Eridan was being such an irritating little worm that day- he had forgotten why and how. Feferi had let go of Sollux’s hand, and he had fallen back into the water. It wasn’t deep, but the only water he’d ever been in was in his ablution trap, and the sight of wavy sunlight and the dark shadows of Feferi and Aradia’s hair above him made him go paralyzed in fear, gasping in water and choking until Aradia’s arms grabbed around his waist and dragged him up.

          He had sputtered and cursed, shaking, on the verge of tears as he waded back to the shore. Without a word, Aradia had thrown a towel around his shoulders, leaving her arm there and coaxing his head onto her shoulder, giving him little paps that he muttered he didn’t need. Feferi started to apologize again and again with a fuchsia face and grey eyes the size of the luxury hive they were next to, and Sollux accepted it with a fake smile and a few self-deprecations. _I’m going inside to change_ , he had told them, trying not to sound passive aggressive towards Feferi, the sweetest troll he knew, but he couldn’t.

          He found Eridan pouring over a textbook and trying out physics formulas for fun like the massive nerd he was, in a small room with soft lights and a shitty wand pile in the corner.

 _ED, do you have any clothes that aren’t fuckugly?_ He had asked upon barging in. _Oh wait, who am I kidding, of course you don’t._

Eridan had snarled at the sight of the yellowblood, in retrospect, for a good enough reason. _As if I’d let some sludgeblooded landlubber wear clothin’ made for fuckin’ royalty like myself._

They had exchanged more insults in a similar way, hatred growing stronger and stronger until they were nose to nose, skipping from yelling to hissing to spitting and possibly on the verge of a hatesnog.

          And right in the middle of a particularly nasty caste slur towards the sea dweller, Eridan’s face fin twitched, and Sollux’s mouth shut. _Did… did your fin just twitch?_ He had asked with amusement, and Eridan’s face went from hot rage to an almost feisty scowl. _What, is there a fuckin’ problem if a guy’s fins want to twitch?_

It wasn’t his fins, Sollux noted. Just one. The other one had stayed still as a stone, like it was dead on his face. Like- _Half your gills are busted, aren’t they? That’s why you don’t swim with us._

The way Eridan’s hand made to clutch at the make believe pains on his side was answer enough. He sneered and turned his head away, always haughty, especially when his insecurities were in plain view. _None a’ your glubbin’ business, Sol. Swimmin’s just an unpleasurable experience an’ I’d rather spend my time bein’ near the water doin’ dignified things rather than in it is all._

Perigrees later, when they became friends, Eridan changed his mind on it being none of Sollux’s business. _It’s like breathin’ through your nose when you’re stuffed up. Just feels like you’re gonna fuckin’ suffocate any second._

“Captor.”

          The mystery troll’s strict voice snaps Sollux out of his daze. In the light of the moon and stars, he can now see that she’s sharply dressed, in a short-sleeved jacket and crisp striped pants. Her hair is bluntly cut into a short bob, and even her horns are neat and pointy, almost like Terezi’s are- were- though hers are longer and rotated higher on her head. She’s fully mature, and Cerulean, blue lashes and black lips behind rectangle glasses and on top of slender fangs.

          “My name is Poidea Radnik. I own and manage this business.”

          …Which, in lowblood terms, means ‘I’ll stick a fork in your chest if you don’t work hard enough, and until then, I’ll take pleasure in whipping you into submission.’ Sollux nods once and puts on his best cooperative face.

          “Thank you for letting me work for you, ma’am,” he chokes out with minimal sneering despite every bit of his muscle system screaming to do otherwise.

          She stares down at her black painted nails. “Right, right. You’re useless in those caves, I'm not sure what he was thinking, sticking you in there. I’ll have you out here, stabilizing them. Your records say that you’re a very high powered psionic; we might as well exploit that.” She ushers over the next worker to roll a stone from the cave, getting them to give Sollux a ten second training session on how to jam the psion right in the centre before sending them back to work.

         

          The focus and exertment required is overwhelming, and Sollux’s head is on the verge of explosion by the time the bell starts to chime and the other workers start to pack up their stuff. Sollux barely has his proper black and white shoes on when Mytran catches up with him.

          “Hey new kid," he calls, grabbing Sollux's shoulder with a light and friendly touch, "we’ve got a bit of a system set up here. These are dangerous parts for trolls like us, crawling with highbloods, y’know? We usually hang around the outside of the caves for an hour, grab a few drinks from Finchi’s locker over there, and wait for the bus to get here. Most of us live in the Jonquil region, so we all ride together. Strength in numbers, you know?”

          Sollux shrugs and pulls out his phone, where there are two messages waiting for him.

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 20 minutes ago

     CA: fefs runnin some errands ill pick you up at 5 an well swwing by the store to pick her up on the wway back to the penthive

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 17 minutes ago

      CA: <3?

          A shadow leers over Sollux’s screen, and he immediately covers it up, but the bronzeblooded co-worker is already screeching.

          “Oooh, was that a heart?”

          Sollux rubs at his temples, the bronze’s shrieks not helping his migraine, which is even worse than usual. The voices in his head have died down to a gentle hum since last week, but they’re largely overtaken by the throbbing veins pulsing to his cranium.

         

          Finchi, the rumoured drink supplier, turns out to be an athletically built girl with huge horns almost as big as Tavros’. Underneath her work jacket is an ill-fitting sleeveless top with a simple symbol on it- a thick yellow line that pinches off to an arrow on both sides. She talks in a raspy voice, making Sollux think of Ter… no. No, everything is making Sollux think of them, but he’s not going to until he’s alone, or at least with his friends.

          “Don’t mind Kyrian. She’s way too fixated on quadrants for her own good since landing herself a cerulean kismesis. Really, she just wants to brag.”

          The shrieky bronze- Kyrian, likely, pouts. “Finny, come on! I’m not bragging!”

          Mytran’s dips his face down, letting shadows overtake it. For the first time since meeting Sollux, his voice lacks cheer, and he says softly, as if not wanting anybody else to hear, “I don’t need to warn you again, do I? It’s not safe having a kismesis that far from you.”

          Finichi scowls at the two and looks back at Sollux. “So, Sollux, how are you doing in your quadrants? I’m sure one of us can hook you up if you need someone before the drones get here.”

          Sollux finds himself thinking back to all the violet hearts on his screen that have been causing him giant ulcers for the past week. They hadn’t talked much at the get together before twelfth perigree’s, nor were they in any state to start discussing their relationship the last time they were together, at the coffee shop. Eridan’s cape is tucked in the bottom of Sollux’s bag. He’s reluctant to part with it, because it’s staggering how the mid castes, even Vriska’s, don’t give him sneers or elbow him when he has the violet fabric wrapped around his shoulders. It still looks stupid on him, not even endearingly showy like it does draped on Eridan’s shoulders, mainly because Sollux doesn’t have one fin that twitches when he gets passionate to frame with a high collar.

          “Sollux is blush-ing! You totally have somebody special, don’t you?” Kyrian’s voice is even more insufferable than before, and it sponges out all of Sollux’s patience.

          He doesn’t mean to say anything out loud, just to himself to assure the stupid half of his brain that he is not deep in any flushed feelings for the immature, ostentatious fish prince. “Shut the fuck up. I’m the furthest thing from flushed for that asshole, there isn’t even a measurable distance. The closest thing I can think of is ‘fuck no-metres’.”

          And, as if on some sort of the-universe-hates-Sollux-Captor queue, his pocket vibrates with another text.

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] less than 1 minute ago

     CA: im on my wway now  
     CA: ok?

          Fingers tap at the screen, formulating responses and erasing them until Sollux settles on something sufficiently casual.

     TA: yeah 2ee you 2oon ED.

He debates sending a heart in response, but doesn’t bother. It’s probably best to let the whole thing die, let Eridan find a pretty troll with purple blood that isn’t an irritable bipolar mess, and hopefully one that won’t flip their shit over the stupid things that he says half the time.

 

After a few clumsy topic changes to get the workers off the quadrant tangent, another message appears on the screen.

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] less than 1 minute ago

     CA: wwaitin at the gate im comin in  
     TA: iit’2 fiine ii’ll ju2t be two 2econd2 kay? got two grab my bag and ii’ll be right out.  
     CA: no wway i wwant to see wwhat this place is like the vieww looks fuckin grand

          Mytran and Kyrian are locked in a debate about their favorite fast food joint, having managed to drag in the rest of the workers onto teams, when the click of fancy blue and teal sneakers against the stone- a different sound than the scrape of their work boots, silences them. 

          It enrages Sollux how well that douchebag has grown up. At six sweeps, he was a know-it-all brat with a pushed up nose, chubby cheeks, and an ill-informed genocide complex based off of ignorance of how society actually worked. At six and a half, one little comment from Kanaya, “You know if you kill all land dwellers, you’ll be at the bottom,” caused him to hole up in his hive for a perigree, obsessing over novels and history books until he came out and said that he changed his mind, that he would rather use his prestige to uphold the subjugation of land dwellers, particularly the disrespectful highbloods, as the lowbloods were hardly worth his time. This was regarded as a huge step in the right direction by everybody, especially Feferi, who was so proud that she hugged him for twenty minutes.

          It was also around this time that he had started losing the last of his baby fat, revealing some impressive cheekbones and a noble looking jawline. Eridan had loved that, being the unrivaled metrosexual he is, and started putting on make-up from time to time- none of the stuff for girls, but the subtle black lipstick and coloured eyeliner that all the aristocrats, male and female, put on for special occasions.

          It’s hard to tell, but Eridan is definitely wearing his black lipstick, and it’s making it completely obvious that he has a really nice pair of lips.

          He doesn’t say much, just a muttered “Hey.” His gaze is cast out to the star studded surface of the sea; his eyes start to glaze over, enamoured, and in seconds he looks like Gamzee after eating a whole sopor pie.

          The workers go silent, until Mytran speaks up. If he’s intimidated, he doesn’t sound it, just respectful, but casual enough that Sollux isn’t sure if Eridan will bash him in the head for it or not. “Do you need something, Prince Ampora?

          Sollux finds it a bit unnerving that everybody knows the sea dwellers by name, a testament to the stalkerazzi that pepper the streets of the Capital City. Despite giving what could only be described as absolute zero on the Kelvin scale of shits, Sollux somehow has the last names of the entire on-planet aristocracy burned in his brain: Peixes, Ampora, Qardas, Morace, Coppen, Fiodor, Ariles, Purpur, and Tyloda, and he hates himself for being able to recite them all.

          “What would be downright masterful as of right now would be for this grandiose little cliff to not be littered with all a’ this glowin’ land trash.” He ushers further down the rock path to where the day’s work, dozens of stabilized boulders, lie. “But I suppose that’s customary a’ you workin’ types to fester in disarray so I’ll let it slide this once.”

          Mytran gives a tentative nod and glances to Finchi for support. She gives a barely noticeable shrug. “Are you here to see Poidea? I think she’s in her office- it’s a wooden building around the back of the cliff.”

          Sollux starts digging through his bag, muttering the sea dweller’s name in a futile attempt to get him to shut up as Eridan continues to blather on.

“No, I’m not here to converse with some glubbin’ loose lipped office crawler, an’ I’d appreciate if you’d all stop makin’ assumptions that I’m got some fuckin’ schemes a’ brewin’ for this visit, like there’s somethin’ wrong with-“

“ _Eridan_.”

The coworkers, whose attention had been previously fixated squarely on the increasingly irate troll in front of them, all turn to look at who had just snapped at nautical aristocrat with such insubordination.

“Eridan, _shut up_.”

Beside Sollux, Kyrian drops open her mouth, and Finchi shoots him an almost pitied look that has ‘it was nice knowing you’ written all over it.

Probably not helping the blood pressure of Sollux’s coworkers is the way that Eridan grabs him by the forearm to pull him to his feet, then proceeds to whisper something in his ear, that turns out to be “We’re plannin’ on havin’ a little memorial for Tav, Kar an’ Rez, too.”

Pain starts to well up in Sollux’s chest, matching the heaviness that he feels emanating from Eridan’s. After pushing the images of his three late friends from his mind all week, realization starts to cripple the barriers and allow them to flood both halves of his brain.

Eridan doesn’t release his hand from Sollux’s forearm; he lets it slide down until his hand is entwined with the yellowblood’s, and gives it a little squeeze, which half makes Sollux’s entire body rise by at least two thousand degrees and half makes him want to slap Eridan for having such horrible taste. Both parts of his brain agree that he really, really wants to talk to Karkat though, and that he can’t and that fucking hurts. He squeezes his hand in return, and finishes pulling Eridan’s cape from his bag, throwing it around the sea dweller’s shoulders where it looks right at home. It might be Sollux’s imagination, but he swears that Eridan’s one fin gives a twitch.

          “I’ll, uh, see you guys tomorrow,” Sollux murmers back to the workers, who are now exchanging confused glances amongst themselves. He barely gets the words out before tears start stinging at the corners of his eyes. A quick look at Eridan reveals that he’s losing it too, a lone violet streak making its way down his face before it’s quickly wiped away by the combined efforts of their knotted fingers.

 

          Eridan’s car is parked just outside the gates, next to what Sollux can only assume is Poidea’s- a slick white vehicle that looks dowdy next to the sharp-edged black sports car that almost always has two sea dwellers inside it.

          By the time they near the car, Eridan is bawling again, and even Sollux has a steady stream of tears going down his cheeks.

          “I can’t believe they’re really gone,” Eridan says in a hushed tone. “I mean I can believe it, since Kar and Tav were cullin’ bait, but Rez too…”

          “AA said she might be able to find their ghosts. So… maybe we’ll be able to talk to them again someday.” Sollux grabs his friend by the shoulders and draws him closer so that the watery violet tears soak into the sleeve of his t-shirt. He tries not to cry into Eridan’s hair, but the bastard has so much gel crusting it back that the drops slide right off.

          They stay their half-hug for a long time, silent and still save for the occasional sob until their eyes are dried out and their chests are on the verge of collapse.

 

          Somehow, they make it back to the Harlight parking lot without dying from heart implosion. There’s a space reserved for one Ampora, and one for Peixes even though Feferi doesn’t drive.

          “I’d be best if we took the elevator down here, so as to avoid the scumsponged workers in the lobby.” He sounds a little bit more chipper, considering Eridan’s brand of chipper is the same as Sollux and Karkat’s- the more casual insults, the better the mood.

         

          The building is one of the oldest usable ones in the Capital City, and the elevator is an old style one with metal shutters. It’s surprisingly smooth, given the age, but then again, Sollux can’t imagine that such a luxurious building would have any uncomfortable accommodations. It stops on the lobby floor to pick up two passengers, a purpleblood lady the same shade as Gamzee, and what seems to be her matesprit, a slender cerulean with horns so tall he has to duck to get through the gates. As expected, both give Sollux dirty looks, but say nothing. He’s never taken much mind to the disapproving glares of highbloods, like his existence is staining their enjoyment of life, having dealt with them for his entire life, but Eridan furrows his brow at the two newcomers and squeezes Sollux’s hand tighter.

          Even the key that Eridan has to use to unlock the switch that takes the elevator to the penthouse is ornately decorated. When the gates slide open, revealing a long stretch of windows letting the orange glow of streetlights and stars flood the living room, even Sollux, as unentranced by beauty as he usually is, has to take a moment to drink it in.

          Large decorated archways separate blocks, save for double wooden doors leading to what Sollux can only assume to be the respiteblock, and a single leading to the hygieneblock. All the furniture is decorated with swirls and floral reliefs, coloured grey with hints of violet thrown on- removable things like throw rugs and pillows.

          There’s a dining room table behind one of the arches, where the sea dwellers have set up three candles- one teal, one ochre, and one burgundy with a strip of cherry red fabric tied around it. A few pictures are strewn across the table, not that there was a lot to choose from, since they were never exactly keen on spending what precious moments they had together taking pictures. There’s two of Terezi and Vriska in their flarp costumes, one of Terezi, Vriska, Tavros and Aradia, and one that’s half Karkat’s miffed face and half his hand, blocking out the lens. There’s drawings, courtesy of Nepeta, too- colourful ones of the three floating in bubbles, holding hands. Tavros has proper legs in all of them.

          Beside the pictures are little trinkets. Terezi’s glasses are the most noticeable, but a stack of Karkat’s favorite movies somehow found their way to the table, as did a box of fiduspawn crap and a mountain of plushies.

          After a long minute of silence, the two are in tears again, but quiet and controlled this time; the tears slide down without sobs or sniffs.

          Sollux’s hand grazes over the half-picture of Karkat. “I was there when AA took this,” he says softly. “She said she wanted some record of what her friends looked like. I can’t remember what he said after that, but I think he starting spouting that we weren’t even friends, then apologized out of nowhere like an hour later.”

          Eridan stays silent for a long time, thumbing over the pictures. “Who’s gonna give us all quadrant advice now?” He looks up expectantly at Sollux, as if actually seeking an answer. “An’ who’s gonna whip up a fake court to solve our stupid shitty arguments, an’ who’s gonna tell me to keep believin’ in magic an’ wizards an’ all that fake shit?”

          There’s no answer, so he doesn’t say a word.

         

         

          Feferi gets back with Kanaya in tow hours later. Feferi is quiet as she rings the buzzer to be let in, and strangely lethargic in movement. Kanaya is the same way- heavy footed with glazed over eyes.

          The penthive is blue with the beginnings of sunrise, and absent of any background noise, just the quiet and doleful chuckles from the two boys sitting cross legged on the floor.

          “So when KK got to the train station, TZ was there, wearing seven colours of lipstick and carrying a noose, and he just spun on his heels and walked away, apparently.”

          “An’ that was the first time they met in person?”

          “Well, it would have been if KK didn’t bolt like a twerked out antlerbeast. I had to hear about his internet girlfriend failures for a perigree until she finally got a hold of him to explain what happened.”

         

          Kanaya presses the back of her palm to her gritted teeth. “Are you swapping stories?”

          The boys look up and nod, relaxed and easy smiles over their faces, until Feferi and Kanaya join them on the floor.

          “I could tell you about the time I was roped into helping Tavros hunt a hoofbeast.”

          Feferi gives an eager nod, and lets Kanaya tell the whole story of Tavros tripping over his lance and plotting with Kanaya over Trollian to try and catch the hoofbeast that had somehow managed to get wrapped in his drying laundry, making her swear to not mention a word to Equius.

          They all counter with stories of their own, fun ones of the first time they saw Terezi’s respiteblock, or thrilling ones of Sollux and Karkat having to fight off a giant adult troll that had broken into Karkat’s hive, happy ones of Feferi and Tavros running an imaginary zoo together, and even sad ones of Karkat seeking words of support after his breakup with Terezi.

          By the time the sun is fully up and Sollux and Kanaya start to get jumpy from the daytime chucklevoodoos ramping up, everybody is smiling again. Nostalgic, teary-eyed smiles, but ones that ease the weight from their hearts and start to convince them that life will go on.


	4. Disciplinary and Self-Indulgent Measures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trolls submerge themselves fully in sopor slime, which is breathable in the same way as liquid breathing that is used for deep sea diving.

 

It takes Sollux a few minutes of lying at the bottom of a foreign recuperacoon next to a sleeping Eridan to figure out what exactly is going on, until he remembers Feferi offering to drive him to work, since that was apparently much easier than driving him home- not that he wanted to go home last night when he could stay wrapped up in the warmth of his childhood friends for a little longer.

In the soothing embrace of the slime pressing down on him and the squishy walls of the ‘coon beneath him, Sollux isn’t entirely aware of the placement of all his limbs, and they're nearly numb from the sopor dulling every nerve to a near-comatose state. He can’t see for the gallons of electric green goop whirling around his face with every thick and heavy breath, but he feels a slight stir tremor through his entire left side and realizes that in his sleep, he’s let his arm escape his side to cling onto Eridan and pull him up closer.

A panic surges through Sollux at once, and, praying that the sea dweller is still asleep, he slides his arm out from where the sea dweller is sleeping on top of it and climbs out of the recuperacoon as cautiously as he can.

          Sollux can’t remember putting on purple plaid pyjama pants, possibly due to them staying up far too late into the day and being doused with chucklevoodoos (he remembers tall shadows of imperial drones stretching across the entire floor, the five pronged spires on their carapaces getting larger and larger until he and Kanaya were backed against the wall shaking.)

After many quick glances back to the ‘coon to make sure that yes, Eridan is still sleeping, Sollux slides the slimy pants off and gets back into his clothes from the day before, and oh god, that girl at work that acts like Nepeta in her weeaboo phase is not going to let this fly under the radar; she'll probably think that him and Eridan did stuff and spread it all around and _oh fuck_. He debates asking Eridan if he has some spare clothes, or at least pants, since him wearing a violetblood’s symbol is the kind of illegal that’s hard to find even in bucketfilms, not that he’s into that kind of stuff, constituting an insta-cull, but figures showing up for work in prissy pinstripes would be even more conspicuous than yesterday’s jeans.

          With a grim smile, Sollux reminds himself that wearing the exact same clothes two days in a row is business as usual for him and he really has no reason for getting worked up. In fact, it’s so far from conspicuous that he gives himself a mental slap for even considering asking for some spare pants. Idiot.

 

          Kanaya’s awake and preparing breakfast, helping herself to some cereal and sitting alone at the café-style breakfast table.

          “Good morning,” she says, looking up from her bowl. “I’m assuming that you’ll be heading off to the land of underpaid and overworked shortly as well?”

          Sollux slumps down at the table and snickers. “It’s only my second day and I’m ready to tie my bulges around an anchor and let it drop to the bottom of the ocean.”

          Kanaya spoons at her cereal thoughtfully, like she’s expecting philosophical quotes to start oozing from the centre of each Cheerio. “Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken so generally. It turns out that my job is quite enthralling. I’ve managed to have a gripping debate over the pros and cons of gabardine already, not to mention...”

          “Mention what?”

          A small smile starts to shine on Kanaya’s face. “Oh, it’s nothing, just a girl. Have you met anybody that left you spellbound yet?” She pauses and gives a single chuckle. "Never mind, I think I know the answer to that.”

          Sollux slides his chair back to retrieve a cup from one of the numerous cupboards lining the kitchen. After the first six cabinets reveal nothing but plates, cereal and bags of seaweed, he gives up and rinses out a glass from the sink before filling it with orange juice from the pitcher on the table.

          “Your silence is giving my suspicions even more ground. But if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. It’s not pleasant to be probed about feelings towards others, a truth that eludes the person that we may or may not be talking about. Are you enjoying your work?”

          Sollux relaxes in his seat. “Yeah, firing psions at boulders for hours on end is pretty much my dream job. Poor suckers that are waiting in line for my position can suck it, because I’m not giving up this winner any time soon.”

          “Have you applied for a transfer? I know they don’t usually consider transfers from lowbloods this early, but there’s a chance one of us can pull some strings.”

          Sollux reaches for the cereal box, grabbing a handful and shoving them in his mouth, only feeling mildly guilty when five or six Cheerios miss completely and hit the floor. The hemospectrum still eludes him- red at the bottom, then blue, and then red at the end again? And he’s yellow, a colour that he can’t even see, instead seeing a muddy white whenever he bleeds.

          It was Terezi that had found out that he was tritanopic, the word that Kanaya used when everybody else preferred colourblind, and Sollux himself preferred ‘I like red and blue because they’re the only two colours I can fucking see’. It would be a complete non-issue if the entirety of Alternian society didn’t revolve around the subtle differences in colours, and thus it's caused him a few confusions when dealing with people. Most times, he can fire something through the computer, just open it up on a photo program and read the hex code. With adulthood forcing him to leave the house on a regular basis, he’s been debating installing a program of sorts in his glasses, but he’s not so sure on the mechanics of that, and there’s no way he’s going to collaborate with Equius, as much as the guy would be happy to build a machine that helps Sollux understand the hemospectrum.

          Colours are at least somewhat indicative as far as trolls go: blues are higher, and the reds with fins are actually violet. The deep red is of rustbloods, paling until his own yellow, then abruptly turning blue, which he’s told is olive green. After Terezi told him about his condition, he spent all of ten minutes wondering about yellow and green and purple, before deciding that he just couldn’t be assed to care. Colours are good for fashion and social construction, two things that are the exact inversion of Sollux’s interests. He doubts that the world would be any less ugly in full colour.

          “My boss already switched up my tasks since I’m an obvious failure at physical labour.” Sollux waves a hand at his arms, composed of nothing except for skin and bone and a minuscule skim of muscle. He’s always looked like he’s on the wrong side of a crippling illness due to never having to pick stuff up with his arms, and his legs fare only slightly better, if only from running around the roof of his old hivestem trying to strife with the useless idiot of a lusus that he spent too much of his energy caring for.

          Kanaya pours some more cereal into her bowl, as if gazing upon Sollux’s atrophied twigs is causing her own body to shrivel up. “So I’m correct in assuming that you’ll be returning to your home with headaches rather than muscle aches?”

          “Pretty much. It’s hard to get an ache in something that doesn’t exist.” He smirks when he sees Eridan plod into the kitchen, wearing big fleecy slippers, and adds, “Hence why ED’s brain never hurts.”

          Eridan collapses onto a chair, massaging lazy circles over his eyes. “Watch it, you glubbin’ peasant,” he mutters between yawns. “You’re the one with no sense, insultin’ the guy that’s gonna give you a ride after lettin’ you stay the night like a proper friend.”

          Kanaya shakes her head ever so slightly, smiling in that same old manner of disbelief that she’s been doing since they were seven and a half sweeps, and they had awkwardly introduced each other as ‘my best friend’ to one of Vriska’s frienemies from around the neighbourhood, albeit in the double sarcastic, mock-resentful way that they had both picked up second hand from Karkat. Somehow, it had started to speak more sincerity to say ‘He’s the worst excuse for a friend and I’m being punished every second I’m around him’ over ‘He’s my best friend and we make each other laugh.’

         

 

* * *

 

 

          As Sollux expects, Kyrian corners him at the lockers when he’s trying to change his shoes. She says nothing at first; she gives him a long challenging stare, and Sollux knows that it’s going to either play out with him asking what she wants, and her spewing at him, or him toughing out the stare, only to have her spew at him anyway. Kyrian is almost ready to open her mouth by the time Sollux comes up with something reasonable to say to stop her from rotting his thinkpan before the day even starts.

          “It’s so obvious what you’re about to say, so just spare yourself the trouble and don’t even bother, ‘cause it’s completely none of your fucking business.”

          He smirks when stares gape-mouthed for a second and walks away without a word.

 

          An hour seems to be all it takes for Sollux’s head to be set on fire from psionic overuse, but he only gets a break every two. The time goes by faster than it should, with Sollux having to carefully inspect all the rocks for the perfect spot to blast, it takes a massive amount of focus, though of a completely different part of his brain than he would get with his codes. Without the engulfing intellectual concentration that he’s used to by spending his days working on projects and debugging crap people send him, the voices start to trickle through the thin barrier of thought and mingle with the noises around him, made even worse by his mental defenses being exhausted with psychic use. _(don’t wanna die not ready to leave why won’t anybody help me) (it’s your fault where were you when I needed you you let me down)_

          He grips his head with one hand, taking a few looks around to make sure he’s alone before stopping the cautious sparks crackling from his eyes and hands. _(I’ve failed worthless useless no-good deserve to die)_ A long time ago, he shouted at the voices to shut the fuck up and yell at someone else, but quickly learned that it does nothing except make him look crazy. Which, he supposes, he is, reduced to grabbing his head and trying to shake the voices away, trying to crush his own skull to force them out, but they just ramp up in volume and get angrier, angry at him, not just their situation- they scream and taunt _him;_ it's his fault. The only way to calm them down is-

          “There you are.”

          Aradia.

          “AA?” Sollux whispers, mindful of both his coworkers and Poidea, who could be anywhere. He’s not sure if it would be worse for them to see him with Aradia's visible form, or see him talking to thin air. Either way, he's sitting on a rock, shaking instead of working, meaning that he's fucked either way.

          “I just thought I should let you know that I’m here.”

          Sollux rubs his temples even harder. “Okay? Why do I need to know this?”

          “They told me that you were worried about me.” Her hand starts to stroke Sollux’s hair, and immediately, the voices quiet to a static. “They also told me that the voices are getting out of hand.”

          “And as nice as it is of you to step in, I’m kind of working right now.”

          “But you aren’t working. Not really.”

          “I should be.”

          Aradia’s fingers leave his hair, pulling the voices back up in volume as they go, though not nearly as bad as they were getting before she had showed up.

          “I’ll go now, if that’s what you want. I still have not found the ghosts of our friends, but I’ve been trying. I want to talk to them as much as you do, Sollux.”

          Before Sollux can respond, she’s out of sight, like the exceedingly unreliable moirail she is, and he whispers a silent thanks that he’s not the kind of troll that needs a palemate to stay sane like Equius and Eridan. 

          He moves to get back to work, but before he can, a loud crack fills the air, and the only thing he can register is a terrible and sharp pain across his back, like a million bee stings carving his flesh and dousing their trails in vinegar. He doesn't recognize the scream that sounds as his own until his breath catches and he starts coughing, whimpers rising hin this throat and mixing with his coughs until they form strangled sobs of pain.

          Under his t-shirt, the hot-cold trickle of yellow blood starts to soak into the fabric where it touches his skin, and pour down to the waistband of his jeans where the shirt hangs too baggy. He can hardly see through the blinding pain as it overrides all of his senses, though he manages to fold over sideways to cling to the pain and instinctively put pressure on it.

          “Get back to work, you useless gutterblood,” a sharp voice, probably Poidea’s, but it’s hard to tell over the ringing in his ears, snaps. “And don’t you dare get any of your mustard sludge on the rocks.”

          Fuck, he isn’t used to this kind of pain. He isn’t used to being reprimanded either; the harsh voice gives him chills and shoves fear into his pain, the blue lipstick behind the words reminding him that she's in full legal authority to torture him or even cull him if it's her wish, and what- what if she does? What if he dies like this, barely ten sweeps, for slacking off at his first job, never having filled a goddamn pail before?

          “Apologize to her,” Aradia’s voice whispers in his ear. “It’s easier if you just get on your knees and apologize.”

          And so he slides off the rock he was perched on, dipping down to his knees just as sight starts to return to the corners of his eyes. Everything is covered in stars. “I’m- sorry,” he gasps, unable to create a coherent string of even two words. He tries to say more, but three drops of yellow blood fall to the ground and his other side is met with the same treatment, a lash from a whip like Aradia used to use, but knotted and tangled with barbs made for causing pain. For punishment. Subjugation.

          Though he tries not to, Sollux can’t stop an absolutely pathetic cry from coming out when the blossoming pain on the other side catches up to his brain. From what little he’d seen of Poidea, he’d assumed her to be the type to use harsh words and heavy threats, not outright violence, but when the stars clear from his eyes for a second time, Sollux finds his boss immediately in front of him, looking impossibly huge from where he’s not just kneeling, but doubled over, fallen forward on his hands.

          “We have expectations here, Captor.” She hisses, grabbing a fistful of hair and crouching down so his face is dragged up right next to her piercing blue eyes and razor sharp teeth. “Firstly, I expect that you work with no exception until the two-hourly breaks that I am not under any legal obligation to give. Understand?”

          Sollux bites his lip and lets out a small ‘mmhmm,’ as it’s the best he can manage. His heart is pounding in his chest, sides throbbing with pain.

          “Secondly, you are privileged enough to work on highblood-owned land. That means that you will not under any circumstances contaminate the ground with that sewage you call blood. Does that make sense?”

          “Y-es,” he pants, wondering how the hell he’s going to manage to obey either of those after being whipped twice and overexerting his psionics to the point of near blackout.

          “Excellent. And I’m assuming that you won’t need a break until the one scheduled for midnight after your little rest.”

          As she walks away, she spits on the ground, and Sollux is smart enough to figure out what she’s trying to say- that her spit is cleaner than his blood.

           

         

          By the time the midnight bell chimes, Sollux has no idea how he’s alive. The voices aren’t just loud, but screaming loud enough to feel like his eardrums were splitting from the inside, in a pitch so high that it makes his eyes water. It’s beyond embarrassing, but he sobs like a wriggler for the last half hour before he finally gets some relief, working on pure fear and adrenaline that he never thought he would be forced to succumb to. 

          He staggers over to his locker, crusted with blood on his shirt and- oh, shit, dribbling in streams from his nose and mouth, and possibly eyes, though they might just be the streams from where he made a fool of himself crying. Everything is a yellow haze, trimmed with red and blue, warping like the waves of the ocean, and what he wouldn’t give to be drifting out at sea right now, terrified but excited, clinging onto Feferi with one arm and Eridan with the other lest he ever fall into the water.

          Very little of his consciousness is even aware of the arm that wraps around his waist and hauls him onto the rock bench, and the large part of him that’s convinced that he’s floating in a memory mutters, “You’re the worst lifejacket ever.”

          There’s still screaming in his head (YOU FUCKING LEFT ME TO DIE) and Sollux has no idea how much is hallucination, but it sounds just like Karkat, and he wants to crack his own head open and end his suffering.

         

          But he’ll be culled for being useless if he doesn’t get his shit together in the next half hour. Cool fluid slides past his lips and down his throat, and more pours over his forehead, and fuck if that isn’t the best thing he’s ever felt.

          “Captor? You gonna be alright?”

          “I don’t know what that woman’s thinking, putting him on non-stop psionic duty for the whole day. Hell, I can’t even do an hour before I burn out.”

          “Well, what are you going to do, talk to Poidea?”

          “Oh hell no, I don’t want- oh god, look at his sides. She sure did a number on the poor kid.”

          “What do you suggest we do, though? Send him home and cover for him?”

          “No, we have to get him through the day, or else she’ll have him culled. I guess our best option is mind honey.”

          Sollux’s eyes fly open at the mention of mind honey. No, not mind honey; not after last time.

          Within minutes, he finds warm sticky honey being spooned into his mouth, diluted down with water. All he has the energy to do is smack his lips together, the sweet taste slowly dissolving down onto his tongue, and then he feels his psionics start to sharpen up, crackling with a power jolt that clears his mind in a way different from proper consciousness. He can see, hear, the voices are gone, but at the same time, stronger than ever.

          The first thing he sees is two familiar faces- Mytran and Finchi, bent over him alongside the other bronze, the one who isn’t Kyrian.

          “There we go,” the bronze says, slapping his hands together. “Told you I was a mindhoney expert. That should last him till the end of the day.”

          “He’s gonna crash _hard_ ,” Finchi grumbles.

         

 

twinArmageddons [TA] messaged arsenicCatnip [AC]

TA: are you a frIend of sollux? he b1acked out and needs somebody to take hIm to hIs hIve   
AC: :33< *ac drops the phone, circles it and sniffs hesitantly* hmm, it s33ms mr. double trouble has hissplaced his phone, she whispurrs to herself!   
TA: errr maybe I should ask somebody else   
AC: :33< *ac pounces the impawster from behind, pinning them down and preventing them from leaving!*   
AC: :33< unfurtunately i dont know where sollux lives :(( nor do i have a car like my meowrail   
TA: no thats okay do you know who I shou1d ask In that case?   
AC: :33< *ac’s eyes start to fill with tears as she accidentally types out karkitty, without remembering that he’s not around anymore :((*   
AC: :33< purrhaps you could try cc or ca   
TA: ok thanks I’11 try those

 

          Finchi turns to Kyrian, hesitantly rolling Sollux’s phone in her hand. “I guess he’s friends with Ampora and Peixes, if these colours are any indication. That’s messed up.”

          “Are you going to text them? They won’t know it’s you.”

          Finchi nods slowly and starts to thumb over the keys. She doesn’t know much about the heiress, but can only assume that she’s much like the Condesce, and decides to stay far away from a conversation with her.

 

twinArmageddons [TA] messaged caligulasAquarium [CA]

TA: are you a frIend of sollux? he b1acked out and needs somebody to take hIm to hIs hIve   
CA: not noww sol im busy   
CA: wwait wwhat   
TA: workp1ace accIdent   
CA: glubbin useless i swwear to cod   
TA: AC said that you or CC would be wI11Ing to he1p   
CA: wwell im not exactly keen on sharin my recuperacoon AGAIN but it wwould be mighty uncouth a me to leavve him i guess   
CA: is he hurt   
TA: yeah but nothing that a day or two In sopor wont fIx   
CA: okay i suppose ill come get him but dont tell cc i dont want her hearin about howw sol got fucked up at wwork   
CA: itll make her sad an it makes the palest parts a my heart wweep a despondent melody a moirallegiance wwhen fefs sad

 

          Eridan gets to the caves way faster than the day before, easily navigating the busy streets despite the huge rush of cars holding bluebloods returning to their hives for the night and zigzagging pedestrians.

          Everything is identical to the way it had been the first time he walked into the employee area, the only exception being Sollux flopped over a bench with a wadded up grey jacket under his head. His face is crusted with dark yellow dried blood, hair matted down with it and shirt stiff, though the blood is hard to see on black fabric. As Eridan peers a little harder, he can see an incomplete cut in the t-shirt, which he can immediately place from his sweeps of watching weapon documentaries as a typical mark left behind from an Alternian standard grade discipline whip.

          Sollux murmers something and shifts slightly, and his friend moves over to crouch at his side, lifting the hem of his shirt to take a look at the still wet gash on his side and cringing at all the yellow covering his torso.

          Eridan drops his voice as soft as he can possibly bear to make it in the presence of others. It’s hard to, with his instinct being that he should keep it cold and hard to exercise superiority over all the lowbloods, but he knows how sensitive Sollux’s ears are when he has a migraine.

          Only a handful of times have Eridan had the displeasure of communicating with a migraine-ridden Sollux. The conversations were usually brief, with a “plea2e not now ii have a ma22ive thiinkpanpaiin ii can’t look at a computer 2creen”. That had always struck Eridan as something serious, since Sollux rejecting the premise of a computer screen is unthinkable. As Eridan managed to pry from his friend’s bony, pissed off fingers later, he gets horrifically mind splitting migraines after overusing psionics or “just by fuckiing EXII2TIING,” and spends the duration burying his head in his couch cushions trying to shut out all light and sound.

          So the sea dweller tries to keep his voice down when he offers a lame, “Hey, it’s me,” and gets only a pained groan in response.

          There’s some perfectly good lowbloods just sitting around, and Eridan gives them _that look_ \- the one that he’s practiced in the mirror for hours to get it scream ‘authority’ and ‘prestige’ as strongly as a look could. “Get him to my car, then,” he orders, still trying to keep his voice down but, dually so, trying to make sure nobody can  _tell_ he’s trying to keep his voice down.

          A couple of the Yellows nod, and the biggest one hoists Sollux up over his shoulder. A barely audible ‘fuck’ escapes Sollux’s mouth.

         

          Eridan had hoped that Sollux would be awake enough to walk the distance from the car to the penthive, but he’s still in the same state of groggy delirium, and it takes Eridan four tries to get the psionic in a piggyback that he won’t immediately fall from. Eridan has to take two breaks on the way to the elevator, and wow, he thought he was way stronger than that, especially considering Sollux weighs about three pounds.

          A Cerulean gives them the most quizzical look in the elevator, when Sollux’s bloody figure is slumped onto Eridan’s shoulder, pinned between the sea dweller and the elevator wall, so much that Eridan feels the need to comment with a shake of his head and a vague, “Lowbloods.” They ride in silence the whole way, save for a few little blubbers and quiet curses from Sollux, and when they get to the penthive, Eridan wastes no time stripping him down and wasting _another_ pair of his good pj pants on the other troll, easing him into the sopor slime and hoping that he’ll be better by morning.

         

 

          Sollux sleeps for the rest of the night, plus most of the morning, and when he wakes up once again next to the hazy green shape of Eridan, he starts to wonder what the hell happened. All he knows is that his sides are stinging like nothing else, and that the last thing he remembers is Aradia stroking his hair.

          He finds a note on the respite block door, written in violet pen in impeccable calligraphy despite it only reading ‘showwers to the left a the sittin block,’ making him acutely aware of how dirty and gross he is, even ignoring the slime still gummed onto his skin. He’s covered in blood and dry sweat; even his hair feels oily and matted, and he seriously wishes he knew what the fuck happened. The last time he woke up feeling this way, Aradia was…

          There’s still four hours until he has to head over to the caves for the third hellish day in a row. It’s the kind of time where almost all trolls are asleep- too late for the ones that stay up with the blinds shut like he had used to and too early for workers save for those that work underground. A glance outside the tinted windows on the way to the ablution trap shows a sprawling bird’s eye view of the Capital City, complete with rustbloods walking to their jobs, always the worst and dirtiest ones on Alternia, ramming into things due to their heads being covered in thick blankets to try and shut out the blistering sun.

          It’s that kind of sight that makes Sollux think that maybe yellow isn’t so bad after all. There are a _lot_ of Burgundies, probably a third of the whole planet, and the ones that get to be personal slaves are the lucky ones- slaves on Alternia aren’t exactly slaves; they get paid, even if it is barely enough to live on, if that, and they usually get a recuperacoon in their master’s hive. Burgundies are hardly seen as fit to interact with society, so dirty that to sell a cheap burger would grant them too much liberation. They clean, mainly ablution chambers and sewers during the daytime hours, or they haul freight from point A to point B, which tend to have a dangerous road between them, some being sent to other planets to work in factories and excavations. They can sell themselves for a pailing, though highbloods can usually get that for free if they’re aggressive enough, or they can dance around tall metal support beams for money.

          A twist consumes Sollux’s stomach when it occurs to him that it could be Aradia living the lowest kind of life, scrounging on the ground for a buck, being spit on by drunken midbloods on a power trip.

          Not for the first time, Sollux finds himself wondering how his other friends are doing. Nepeta and Kanaya are in shops, he recalls, though they’ll likely both receive promotions to manager once they’re a little older, maybe even better in Kanaya’s case. Feferi had mentioned something about Vriska ditching her ‘boring pilot school’ to be one of the athletes that perform in death games at the stadium on the ocean. From what Sollux knows about them, a couple of trolls are pitted against each other or a deadly lusus, where they fight to the death while a crowd makes bets on the winner. It’s so grossly typical of Alternia.

 

          Sollux proceeds to take the longest shower of his life, never having had to scrub that much blood off of him before. Once the yellow crust is scrubbed off, revealing the two gaping gashes, he has to deal with layers of sweat, and once his stench isn’t bad enough turn the waves of the ocean in the opposite direction, all the dirt from the caves has to come off. The shower has a rack stocked with colourful bottles filled with shampoo and conditioner, colour treatments, body washes, in-shower cuticle treatment and something by the name of ‘horn polishing wash’ that smells like the cologne of God Himself. It’s a familiar scent that Sollux has caught before when Eridan stands too close, saltly like the ocean, but fruity and floral and tropical and sweet all at once. The bottle is almost empty, so Sollux gently squeezes only the tiniest bit into his palm, bringing it up to his nose to inhale. The scent is overpowering and dizzying, and makes his blood pusher feel heavy and aching for reasons he understands but doesn’t want to.

          After a dazed minute of deeply inhaling the dollop of product on his palm like a hygienic pervert, Sollux succumbs to the throb in his chest and starts to massage it onto his horns, bracing himself against the side of the ablution trap for the shivers that start to rack his body as his fingers move from horn to horn, digging up sensations of pleasure as they move closer to the sensitive base where they protrude from his skull.

          It’s a different feeling from the pure raw pleasure that he gets from touching himself, but it’s just as strong and makes him just as hot, especially when the scent of the wash assaults his nostrils again, and his mind starts to slip over to conjure up images of Eridan rubbing it up and down his beautiful horns with one hand, the other clinging onto the taps as his whole body shudders at the cornical stimulation.

          Sollux’s hand works at his last horn, but his bulges are half unsheathed from his runaway thoughts, body throbbing with want and his mind anxious to ramble forward, to envision a few more pictures of the sea dweller naked and panting under a stream of hot water, fingers creeping downward just like Sollux’s are doing, rubbing harder into the base of his horn and wishing he had an extra set of hands to please himself just a little more.

          It only takes a moment of Sollux picturing lending his own hands to his imaginary Eridan, one hand kneading the base of his lightning bolt horn, pinky stretched down to tickle at his twitchy fin, the other hand’s claws tracing gentle lines at the soft skin of his inner thigh, to get Sollux’s bulges to unsheathe completely and start to slicken with yellow as he takes his bracing hand from the tile wall to give it a couple of good squeezes.

          He figures Eridan to be the talkative type, bossy as all hell and not one to be content with Sollux’s claws teasing him, stroking up higher and higher between his legs until they’re just one centimetre from coming back wet with violet, but descending to taunt him instead. No, Sollux figures the sea dweller wouldn’t take that _at all_ , and would spit something harsh and derogatory enough to send a swell through both of Sollux’s bulges, something so uniquely Eridan that Sollux doesn’t even try to imagine it, instead leaving it a mystery as a little bit of sobriety in his pathetic fantasy to remind him that he’s alone under a stream of hot water with sud-free soap still in his hair and the scent of Eridan’s horn rub choking him with want.

          Sollux squeezes his eyes shut and pumps his bulges faster, the throbbing and the warning quiver in his seedflap threatening to dump his genetic material begging him to keep indulging in his fantasy, to imagine himself giving into Eridan’s demands, to imagine the moan that would echo in the ablution trap when he finally twisted two fingers into the sea dweller’s nook, and how Eridan would fall back against Sollux, head lolled back onto his shoulder, both hands sliding up and down his bulge since Sollux would let his psionics take care of the other horn first, then both of them to free up his own hand. He’d be completely selfless the whole time; he wouldn’t give his bulges any pleasure save for what they’d be getting from being pushed right up against Eridan’s back, using his free hand to replace the sea dweller’s hands with his own, sliding up and down his bulge, moving faster and faster in time with the fingers pumping into his nook, and Eridan’s freed hands would bend back to sweep up Sollux’s neck and face to pull them tighter together, until the cascading water couldn’t even get between their amalgamated flesh, until they could feel each other’s heartbeats, until Sollux could feel Eridan’s moans vibrating through their bodies before they graced his ears, until Eridan’s thighs were shaking from being so close he could cry and panting out ‘don’t fuckin’ stop, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

          As if Sollux would dare even slow down when he was right on the edge of hearing his name tumble out from those full dark lips that he’s too much of a coward to nibble at and suck on like half his brain screams at him to. He would keep giving Eridan everything that he could, twisting his fingers inside him to pet at all the parts that make him gasp and whine, craning his neck to take an earfin between his lips and mash his tongue against whatever parts it meets when tremors start to rock through Eridan’s body and his moans pick up in volume, seedflap pulsating open and shut, releasing violet fluid to be diluted by the water stream and washed away so agonizingly slowly that Eridan is in complete hysterical ecstasy, screaming out both syllables of Sollux’s name between sobbing moans for a minute and a half until all that’s left is

          …is the last bits of watery yellow trickling down the drain and a ringing in Sollux’s ears where the now lukewarm water is hammering on his head, steam whisking away the last remains of the ocean water Tropicana scent.

 

          Seconds after his breathing regulates, Sollux gives himself a quick scrub down and shuts off the water, wondering just how long his shower took, and then remembering that he’s not going to be the one footing the water bill.

          The slime on his borrowed pj pants oxidized to a crust that Sollux scrunches off over the waste bin, and he puts them back on, having no other options for clothing. 

When he comes out of the hygiene block, all the lights are on and the whole penthive smells like breakfast.

 

          Instead of changing into normal clothes like every other troll, Eridan puts on a second pair of pyjamas, striped purple on silver, complete with a cable knit sweater overtop. He has big fluffy slippers on, and dressed like that, it’s a wonder how anybody can find the sea dweller intimidating. Still, his hair is groomed to perfection, tousled back in that ‘effortlessly’ wavy way that takes him twenty minutes to achieve, and his eyes are bright beneath his glasses, heavily rimmed with his eyelashes.

          He wants nothing more than for Eridan to turn and walk away to spare the sick feeling in Sollux’s gut that keeps growing every time he looks at the troll that he had just spent ages fantasizing about in the ablution trap, his _friend_ , god damn it, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Unfortunately, Eridan doesn’t leave, and instead smiles and says in an uncharacteristically light-hearted voice, “I made breakfast. Hope you like sausage an’ eggs.”

          Fuck that bastard. Sollux loves sausage and eggs, but he can never have it, since eggs are grossly overpriced in the city and he’d rather put his money towards new speakers, and he’s 99 percent certain he’s said that in passing once to Eridan. He really hopes that’s the reason that it’s now staring him in the face.

          Sollux smiles stiffly and snatches his plate off the counter with a muttered thank you, very aware of how he’s still shirtless, flaunting the knots in his protruding spine with every twitch of his skin shifting over his bones.

          Eridan doesn’t eat the sausages, since it’s red meat and red meat makes him sick, so he toasts up some bread and cuts it into these perfect little rectangles to dip in the egg yolk. "You feelin' okay?"

          Sollux shrugs, hunching over and looking up at Eridan's blazing eyes. He knows that look- Eridan's about to declare war on something, probably Sollux's work, and if he isn't careful, Eridan could end up inadvertently fucking him over something fierce. "It's fine. A bit sore, but it's nothing sopor can't fix."

          This seems to satiate Eridan, who returns to his toast with less tension in his brows. 

          “Do you have some clothes I can wear?” Sollux asks between bites. His shirt is completely unsalvageable, plus he’s already worn it two nights in a row. His hivestem is a thirty minute bus ride- doable, but he’s still tired and sore and he isn’t even sure if he has his keys with him or if he has to deal with the landlord.

          Eridan slurps some yolk up. “I suppose. They’ll have to be from my reject pile since you’re just gonna go an’ get them dirty.”

          Reject pile. What a spoiled brat.

          “Oh, an’ can we both make a promise here to not tell Fef about you getting’ injured an’ all? You know I don’t want to lie to her but I’m not keen on makin’ her worry.”

          Sollux traces his fingers across the slits on his side. They bled a bit since stepping out of the ablution trap, but clotted quickly to form nasty looking yellow scabs. “I don’t even know what happened, so yeah, I guess.”

          The last of the bread crunches between Eridan’s fangs. “From what I gathered from those imprudent coworkers a’ yours, you got whipped by that landhag boss, fried your pan, so they fed your that mindhoney stuff you’re always goin’ on about, and you passed out, leaving me to drag your sorry ass back here.”

          And suddenly, the last remains of a migraine make sense. Sollux goes flush faced piecing the hazy memories together. “Uh, thanks. I guess I sort of feel like a fuckup for making you pick me up twice in a row.”

          Eridan waves his hand and smiles ever so slightly. “You know I wouldn’t a’ done it if I didn’t want to.”

          The words float in the air and fade away, but his smile remains, leaving a gap in the conversation filled only with the sound of blood thrumming through Sollux’s lips until the momentary bracket of silence that would have been so perfect for Sollux to lean over the table and kiss Eridan like the biggest romantic sap on this side of the planet ends.


	5. Slurs and Noodles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I've decided to include a few headcanons on troll lifespans to the beginning of this chapter, as it seems slightly relevant. From what we know in canon, rustbloods live for 12-24 sweeps, while The Condesce is stated to live for thousands of sweeps. So, taking into account what must be some form of exponential growth, I came up with a few rough estimates: Burgundy-20, Bronze-30, Yellow-50, Lime-80, Olive-110, Jade-230, Teal-320, Cerulean-450, Indigo-600, Purple-1000, Violet-3500, Fuchsia-5000. 
> 
> You might also notice that when referring to castes, I capitalize the colour (Yellows, Jades) unless it's suffixed by -blood. This is mainly to differentiate between caste colours and general colours, but also to give an official sound.

The benches by the lockers are eerily quiet, permeated with the sounds of waves slapping violently against the rocky edges of the short crag that their workplace is built upon and the whistles of gusting wind that pick up all the tiny fragments of dust and whip them back and forth to dance along Sollux’s glasses. Some debris gets in his eyes and stings like all hell, but he doesn't try to stop them. He’s woken up feeling like a coward and a depraved fuck, and every bit of gravel that lodges under his eyelids is an almost satisfying punishment for being the universe's biggest flaw.

The wind makes the miserable night even colder, especially by the water where the icy mist of ocean whirls in the air and clings to his skin, making him ever thankful for the fabric surrounding his forearms, even if it's almost a foreign feeling being out of one of his well worn t-shirts. After much searching, they had found a shirt that lacked a violet symbol, a dark grey sweatshirt with lighter grey sleeves a few inches too long. There’s no symbol at all, probably why it’s a reject- Eridan’s far too vain to go an hour without flaunting those wavy lines. The shirt hangs far too loose over Sollux’s shoulders, draping down over his clavicle and showing off his grossly prominent collarbone, but it’s cozy in its oversize, and thick and fleecy on the inside, smelling too perfectly of misty mountain air to be anything but the product of too much fabric softener. 

          As he walks into the sitting area, he braces himself for Annoying Kyrian, but finds her notably absent, which Sollux figures is a huge factor in the peace and quiet. He doesn't ask, just takes a seat on the very edge of the bench, having to deal with half his ass hanging over the edge to avoid getting too close to another coworker.

          “Glad you’re okay at least,” Finchi says in a hushed tone, and takes a breath as if she's about to give a speech that she's given a hundred times. Everybody's eyes immediately shift somewhere else. “Kyrian was culled last night walking to her hive. From what I gather, she was on her way home, when she tripped and bumped into someone and…they were... not forgiving...” her voice trails off, leaving way for the slapping waves and whistling of wind to take over.

          “What were they?” somebody asks, and she responds with ‘Indigo. Maybe drunk.’

          Two castes up, and nobody can argue, as per Alternian law. It’s what makes Yellow a notable caste: it’s the first one on the hemospectrum that has a legal right to cull or kill without valid reason. They can still kill other trolls, obviously, but the further up they go, the better the excuse had better be. Self-defense is almost always valid, revenge works sometimes, depending on the colour gap, and kismesis accidents tends to get with much more sympathy than it deserves, though it's taboo as all fuck for highbloods and lowbloods to date, less so in the black quadrant, but the dirty looks still pervade. Lime had been removed from the hierarchy a short time ago, and all the Yellows had rejoiced, as it meant that Olives no longer held the right to cull them, even though they rarely would- the castes up to around Teal generally aren’t insane sociopaths and don’t feel urged to kill every poor sap that walks too close like their higher counterparts. 

 

          For some reason, Sollux’s throat starts to feel like it’s caving in on itself. He didn’t know Kyrian that well, didn’t even _like_ her, and death on Alternia is nothing, but he feels that little pang in his gut that’s been flaring up ever since he came of age- the one that says that it isn’t right. It’s not right for a giddy innocent troll to be beaten for tripping, it wasn’t right for Karkat to be seen as unworthy of life because his blood was too bright, and it sure as hell isn’t right for everybody to say it is.

          But what the hell is he going to do? Complain? If Sollux has learned one thing from dull schoolfeeding sessions, it’s that Alternia doesn’t change. Alternia will never change, and if somebody tries, the Condesce will fly home and cull them herself.

          Finchi scoots to the side to free up some space on the bench for Sollux to plant his other asscheek onto the cold damp rock.

          “Your matesprit,” she starts to say in a careful, almost confused, voice as he does so, “Ampora.”

          Sollux’s heart crumples in on itself and turns inside out. The word ‘matesprit’ bounces around in his skull, refusing to leave. “Not my matesprit,” he chokes.

          Finchi nods her head in a manner that reeks of relief and acceptance, and turns towards the back of the cliff, where Poidea’s wooden officeblock in obscured by the rocks. “If she doesn’t let up on you, I mean, I’m just saying that you’ve got a connection some of us couldn’t even dream of.”

          God, that would be far too humiliating. It was bad enough having to get picked up and carted off to Eridan’s penthive; Sollux can’t even imagine the awkward conversation that would have to take place to result in the sea dweller driving down to yell at Sollux’s boss like an overbearing lusus. Sollux shakes his head, and sits in a comfortable silence as low-key small talk begins to circulate between everybody else.

* * *

 

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

TA: hey ii'm goiing two make thii2 quiick.   
CT: D--> Okay   
CT: D--> Actually no   
CT: D--> Not okay   
CT: D--> This conversation shall be as long as I choose   
TA: whatever. ii need two know iif you know iif any place2 are hiiriing.   
CT: D--> You have been working for no more than three days   
TA: long 2tory 2hort ii 2UCK at my job but my bo22 wa2 feeliing generou2 and 2aiid that iif ii can fiind 2omethiing that ii'm not complete wa2techute at 2he'd do the paperwork two get riid of me.   
CT: D--> I enjoy this   
CT: D--> Hearing of an inferior's failures   
TA: how'2 archeradiicatiing goiing by the way??   
CT: D--> E%cuse me   
TA: eheheh FUCK YOU.   
CT: D--> No   
CT: D--> Stop this foolishness at once   
CT: D--> You are a lowly peasant and have no right to insult me   
TA: oh my god you are 2O EA2Y two riile up iit'2 pathetiic.   
CT: D--> Is this   
CT: D--> A caliginous solicitation   
CT: D--> I need a towel   
TA: FUCK NO ii'll put thii2 bluntly a22hole: II NEED A JOB BY TWOMORROW MORNIING OR II GET CULLED.   
CT: D--> I may know of something   
TA: YE2 fuckiing thank FUCK. 2end me the detaiil2.   
CT: D--> I will   
CT: D--> For a price   
TA: are you fuckiing kiidiing me riight now FIINE, what do you want.   
CT: D--> You will give me   
CT: D--> Aradia   
TA: ii don't own her meat2ponge.   
CT: D--> She is highly disobedient and will not show herself to me when I order her to   
TA: wow ii wonder why.   
CT: D--> Fuck you   
CT: D--> I mean   
CT: D--> How rude   
TA: never miind, ii'm 2ure ED and FF will fiind me 2omethiing.   
CT: D--> Despicable   
CT: D--> They will not help you   
TA: eheheh ii thiink they wiill.   
CT: D--> You will cease contact with them immediately   
TA: wiill ii?   
CT: D--> Yes   
CT: D--> I demand you to   
CT: D--> In fact I change my price   
CT: D--> I will put in a good word for you on the condition that you cut off contact with the highb100ds   
TA: ehehe liike they'd want me two we ba2iically hang out all the tiime JU2T 20 YOU KNOW ehehehehehe.   
CT: D--> That is   
CT: D--> Perverse 

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

centaursTesticle [CT] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

CT: D--> Have you no sense    
CA: scuse me    
CT: D--> I apologize that was way out of line    
CT: D--> Feel free to berate me as you see fit    
CA: youre fuckin trash    
CT: D--> Yes    
CT: D--> Good    
CA: wwhat do you wwant    
CA: sense i got plenty a that    
CT: D--> I just finished speaking to that lowb100d    
CA: aradia finally started talkin to you thats good to hear man    
CT: D--> No    
CT: D--> Sollu%    
CA: oh you coulda just said so wwas it the job thing cause i swwear i almost got that sorted    
CA: i KNEWW he wwould talk to you he told me not to quote "concern my2elf wiith iit"    
CT: D--> I have a better offer    
CT: D--> I am starting a robotics industry    
CA: wwell thats fuckin bold of you is that evven legal i thought you wwere a ruffianihilator    
CT: D--> Roboti%   
CT: D--> For the ruffianhiliators    
CA: oh right that makes sense an im assumin you need someone to program them an all that shit    
CT: D--> Are you implying    
CT: D--> That I am not good at it    
CA: i dunno maybe you nevver really talk much about it an i know SHIT ALL about robotics    
CT: D--> I mean    
CT: D--> If you do think that    
CT: D--> Could you maybe    
CT: D--> Tell me    
CT: D--> Forcefully    
CA: cod wwhy you gotta be such a fuckin piece a depravved land crawwlin rubbish i got shit i gotta get done    
CA: if it wwill help you GET ON WWITH IT FINE    
CA: i think youre so awwful at programin youre a disgrace to the entire upper half a the hemospectrum an you should be bleedin out warm red blood all ovver the fuckin dirt like the filthy gutterblooded land dwweller you act like    
CT: D--> Oh    
CT: D--> Oh

centaursTesticle [CT] ceased trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

centaursTesticle [CT] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

CT: D--> Dearest apologies    
CT: D--> I had to go    
CT: D--> Fi% myself up    
CA: that is fuckin disgustin you should NOT tell me about it    
CA: anywway just givve sol the fuckin job all you gotta do is have a chat with the uptight mudlicker boss troll    
CT: D--> I gave him a condition    
CT: D--> That he cut off contact with both yourself and the heiress    
CA: WWHAT wwhy wwould you do that NO    
CA: givve him the fuckin job right now equi you fuckin hogspit nookslurper    
CT: D--> As you wish highb100d    
CA: god damn this wwas the most pointless convversation EVVER

caligulasAquarium [CA] added twinArmageddons [TA] to the conversation

CA: go on an tell him    
CT: D--> I have thought over my choices once again    
CT: D--> You will work for me    
TA: eheheh ii'd rather be culled.    
CA: fuck you sol i had to givve him erotic messages for this    
TA: eheheheh joke2 on you.    
CA: you take his fuckin job this instant i swwear to cod if you get culled i will PISS ON YOUR CORPSE    
CT: D--> Stop    
CT: D--> The lowb100d will work for me    
CT: D--> It is final    
CT: D--> I will talk to whomever I need this evening    
TA: can you 2eriiou2ly not fiind ANYTHIING better?    
TA: FIINE.

twinArmageddons [TA] left the conversation

caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

 

* * *

 

          Sollux spends the time after dinner signing some paperwork with Equius in Poidea’s office, and before he gets to go back to his hivestem, Equius takes him around to his workshop to help set some things up.

          They’ve only been moved in the city for about a week, so the warehouse is dim and empty, with only a few piles of scrap metal and welding machines in place. A couple of half complete robots are slumped against the staircase to the overhanging second floor, where Sollux can recognize the beginnings of a huge terminal. Blueprints are tacked in messy alignments against the inside of the door, depicting strong looking metal boots and gloves.

          “They have me working on performance-enhancing prosthetics,” Equius explains as Sollux flings hardware to the second floor with psionics. There’s a passion to his voice that Sollux has never heard before as he speaks. “I find it a bit strange, as I usually work on things to deter performance.” His eyes follow the line of his loose fitting shirt down at the heavily wired gloves hanging out of his pockets. “They will also have me making robots in the near future, which you will supply the AI for.”

          Sollux can swear he hears Equius mutter something, but it could just be the echo of his voice off the shiny steel.

           

* * *

 

opulentAgent [OA] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

OA: hi eridan! can i call u eridan or is that weird...   
CA: wwho is this howw do you knoww my name im goin to say that YES its pretty damn wweird   
OA: u don't remember me @ all? okay ugh   
OA: cerati?   
OA: qardas?   
OA: we amended the civillian cullin laws 2gether a few sweeps ago when the last lime bit the dust?   
CA: right wwoww sorry i suppose i just didnt expect to hear from you i didnt evven knoww you had my trollian   
OA: yeah i know we haven't talked in like 4ever but i mean once a c dweller comes of age it's like...   
OA: a whole different story! there's not a lot of us so we're like... really close!   
OA: we all live next 2 each other in a connected hive and c each other 24/7 so we're like super tight knit.   
OA: bffs.   
OA: we just can't get enough of each other we just smile with each other 4 hours on end.   
OA: SUPER STOKED 4 u 2 join us!   
CA: i honestly dont knoww if youre jokin or not gimme a clue here   
OA: they're so fuckin annoyin eridan.   
OA: i've been w8ing 2 b culled 4 sweeps 2 escape them ughhh h8 them all.   
OA: please PLEASE dont b horrible my sanity depends on u not being a huge bitch.   
CA: wwell youre in luck i wwouldnt go about labellin myself a bitch   
CA: at least i wwouldnt AND I KNOWW MYSELF WWELL   
OA: o thank fuck they roped me in2 mentorin u 4 the navy so i'm stuck with u 4 a while.   
CA: but i dont get my ship until next swweep   
OA: yes eridan but u have 2 learn how 2 b a naval commanderadicator 1st.   
OA: but don't worry i'm goin 2 mentor u!   
CA: no offense but i dont think you could mentor your wway out of a 6 pack ring   
OA: ok then have fun boardin ur ship without ANY SKILLS WHATSOEVER u gillfucker.   
OA: LOL JK   
OA: JK   
OA: kiddin   
CA: yeah i got that thanks   
OA: k cool lets go 2 the slime spa next monday omg bring ur moirail!   
OA: we can meet and i'll teach u all about bein a MATURE c dweller omfg so fun.   
CA: alright if you insist im basically dyin a boredom here in this coddamn penthive   
CA: howw wwill i knoww its you   
OA: uhhh i look like this   
OA:  77   
OA: }oo{   
OA:   U   
CA: thats probably the most disturbin thing ivve evver seen

caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling opulentAgent [OA]

 

* * *

 

          The slime spa is built over a cliff, bridged out so that half of it is over the ocean. Eridan and Feferi enter into a warmly lit lobby, packed with trolls in completely white ensembles carting fresh towels and fluffy white robes. One of the trolls sits behind a desk, tapping away at a computer, looking up when the two sea dwellers approach. He doesn’t need to ask for a caste verification like he would with younger bluebloods due to their fins, and taps a few things into the computer before showing them three doors to the side: dressing rooms for males, females, and one for unisex.

          It’s their first time in the spa, and, not knowing what to expect, the two head into the unisex dressing room to avoid being separated.

          The dressing room is empty and elegant, not at all like the public swimming pools, with a line of boxes with clear lids containing spare swimsuits, though the sea dwellers brought their own. Feferi changes into her one-piece and sarong, and Eridan into his shorts. He leaves his t-shirt on, letting it cover up the scarring across his gills, and spends ten minutes braiding Feferi’s hair to keep it from getting tangled beyond repair.

          “Eridan, would you stop being such a diva and just leave it?” Feferi says after Eridan unwinds the braid for being ‘not even’ for the fourth time. “We’re not going anywhere special!”

          He slips his fingers through a strand of hair, pulling it tightly into the braid. Feferi’s hair is so soft at the roots, but gets dry and brittle at the ends from years of swimming and not cutting the split ends. “Well excuse me for wantin’ you to look your finest. Also I’m goin’ to ask them to give you a deep condition, ‘cause you are _not_ fit to take care a’ long hair. Look at these split ends.”

          “I am so! Like you have any idea what long hair is like, Mr. Gels-a-lot.”

          They squabble over hair care all the way out of the dressing room, until they step into the actual spa and feel the immediate need to be quiet. Starlight accented with glowing lanterns shines from the glass ceiling, reflecting off of the numerous tubs of thin slime, not quite thin enough to be water but close, setting a yellow glow to the marble tiles and the white clad workers crouched on the edges of every tub, delivering massages and grooming the highbloods within them.

          Hot steam clings in the air, and scents that change from citrus to vanilla to spicy forest as the two weave along the tub edges complement the soft music drifting from all around.

          A sea dweller in a green tub with antennae-like horns gives a little wave as they approach.

          “You two must be Eridan and Feferi,” he says, taking his arm back from around what looks like his friend- a heavy troll with short hair tied back in a little ponytail. He offers a hand when Eridan and Feferi slide into the green slime. “I’m Cerati, this here’s my auspistice, Etsaya.” He smiles, revealing a mouth full of wire-thin fangs.

          “How nice to meet you two!” Feferi says, hardly containing her excitement. Eridan expected her to be a little bit cautious, especially with other highbloods, but if she is, she sure isn’t showing it. She’d been getting even more restless than Eridan had, being in the city surrounded with excitement and new people but not taking part in it. “We’re really glad you decided to invite us out.”

          The slime is instantly soothing, hot and pungent with spices and scents. A few hemonomous personnel flock over to the two newcomers, wheeling a cart full of supplies.

          “Would you like to check off what you would like done, your majesties?” one of them says in a low voice, handing Eridan and Feferi both clipboards with a list of things like ‘nail care’ and ‘back massage’.

          “So basically we have meetin’s every couple weeks in the big place on the water,” Cerati says as a servant starts filing his claws. “They are _the_ most horrible thing, like _ever_ , but if you don’t go, everybody makes a huge deal out of it.”

          Feferi gives a wide-eyed look of intense interest, while Eridan slumps back as his own nails get done. “So what do you do at these meetings?” she asks. Eridan already knows; the younger members of the aristocracy have their own meetings and constitutional collaborations, but those were optional.

          Cerati’s eyes go wide in annoyance. “ _No_ -thing! Nobody does shit because they’re all too stupid to write on a piece of fuckin’ paper except for me. We’ve been trying to make a constitution for the lusii for, like, ever, but nobody can agree on shit. Like, should they be organized on the hemospectrum? Obviously! But Nielta- Nielta Coppen; she’s the biggest bitch you’ll ever meet _ever_ \- keeps on glubbin’ about how ‘ooh, but their blood colours are purely aesthetic’.” He jerks his hand from the servant’s clutches and slaps at her wrist. “Don’t file them so short.”

          Etsaya rolls her dark blue eyes. “They mostly get external shit did, like, eh, empire shit.”

          “Ugh, the Niv's took Cavotter,” Cerati says to nobody in particular, voice dropping but still dripping with contempt. Feferi furrows her brow, having not the slightest clue what he’s talking about.

          “Cavotter is the most advanced planet in our neighbourin’ galaxy,” Eridan whispers into his moirail’s earfin. “We’ve been havin’ somewhat’ve a squabble with the Niveus Trolls over which one of us’ll conquer it first.”

          Feferi nods slowly. She’s connected enough to be aware of Alternia’s biggest enemy and their tug of war for neighbouring planets, but not nearly with the passion and interest of Eridan.

          “’S ‘cause nobody organizes anythin’, my god, and Condy’s ship is always way far out conquerin’ planets too far away to be useful _ever_.”

          Eridan snaps his head up. “She’s closin’ in the peripheries. Conquerin’ a big circle a’ planets an’ then usin’ them to take over everythin’ inside. It’s an ancient tactic.”

          Cerati cocks his head to the side. “I _hope_ that’s what she’s doin’, instead of ridin’ around in her ‘pimp wagon’.” He makes air quotes around ‘pimp wagon’, as if it’s something that the regal Empress would ever say. He then rummages around in his trunk pockets for a slip of paper- the waterproof kind that the aristocracy use for all their documents and turns to Feferi. “Here, this is from Condy,” he continues. “Since you’ve come of age, she’s puttin' you in charge of internal affairs.” He hands the paper with a grimace, and lowers his fully mature violet eyes to meet Feferi’s and says, just above a whisper, “Don’t fuck it up.”

 

* * *

 

cuttlefishCuller [CC] messaged twinArmageddons [TA]

cuttlefishCuller [CC] added caligulasAquarium [CA] to the conversation

cuttlefishCuller [CC] added grimAuxillatrix [GA] to the conversation

CC: Guess w)(at!   
CC: GLUBGLUBGLUBGLUB!   
CC: I got put in c)(arge of internal affairs!   
CC: ISN'T IT -EXCITING? 38D   
CC: i fink we s)(ould ALL go out to dinner to C-ELEBRAT-E!   
GA: Congratulations   
GA: That Sounds Like A Lovely Idea I Dont See What Could Possibly Go Wrong   
CC: We'll pick you up after work!   
GA: Shouldnt We Invite Equius In That Case   
GA: It Would Be Very Awkward And Rude To Go Without Him After Picking Sollux Up   
TA: he'2 takiing nepeta 2hoppiing twoday, al2o ii don't care about hii2 feeliing2.   
CA: wwait kan wwas that one a your backwwards talkin things wway back there   
GA: Maybe   
CA: dammit kan   
GA: 38D   
CC: H-EY!! 38( T)(at's my face!   
GA: I Apologize But It Seemed Appropriate To Steal Momentarily   
TA: ii thiink you guy2 2hould go wiithout me.   
CC: SOLLUX NO YOU DUMB FIS)(FAC-E!   
CC: We ALL want you t)(ere! 38C   
TA: kanaya'2 riight.   
GA: I Want Sollux To Join Us   
GA: Its Just   
GA: Our Dining Options Are More Limited Especially Given The Neighbourhood Of Our General Proximity   
CC: T)(AT'S IT! 38D MY FIRST DUTY WIT)( INT-ERNAL AFFAIRS!   
CC: NO MOR-E CAST-E -EXCLUSIVE R-ESTAURANTS!   
CA: WWHAT   
CA: you havve GOT to be jokin right noww   
CC: -Eridan, stop being suc)( an elitist!   
CA: IM NOT BEING AN ELITIST FEF YOU WWILL BE FUCKIN LYNCHED IF YOU DO THIS   
CC: I'm t)(e )(eiress! 38D T)(ey put me in c)(arge of t)(is!   
CA: DONT YOU DARE   
CA: THEYLL FUCKIN KRILL YOU   
GA: If I May Step In   
GA: This Seems To Have Escalated Rather Quickly   
GA: I Think Troll Olive Garden Is A Reasonable Compromise And Will Gladly Serve Both Yourselves and Sollux Without Any Sort Of Political Intervention   
CA: oh thats fuckin rich   
CA: i am NOT eatin at fuckin olivve garden this is a celebration not a punishment   
GA: Olive Garden Is A Fine Place To Dine   
CA: yeah if youre starvvin on a desert island maybe   
TA: oh my god.   
TA: i cannot believe thii2 ii2 2uch a huge ii22ue ju2t eat your food and iill come over later iif fii2hbiitch cant handle mediiocre food.   
CC: No! 38(   
CA: fishbitch sol really   
GA: This Is Very Exhausting   
CA: wwhy not just havve sol pose as a slavve wwhen wwe get seated then sneak an extra chair ovver so hes not on the floor   
CC: W)(AT?   
TA: what.   
GA: Thats Not A Terrible Idea   
TA: iif iitll 2hut you up then FIINE ii don't really care.   
CC: 38(! Sollux is my frond and I don't want to treat )(im like my slave!   
CA: its fine fef you dont havve to i wwill   
CC: 38(   
CA: okay so wwere all good wwell pick you up around 6 wwear decent lookin clothes   
GA: See You Then

grimAuxillatrix [GA] has left the conversation

CC: I GU-ESS SO.

cuttlefishCuller[CC] has left the conversation

TA: ii 2wear to god iif you abu2e thiis 2lave thiing you're fuckiing dead two me.   
CA: thats a fuckin laugh as if id do that   
CA: but if i spill somethin on my pants youre gonna be spongin it off   
TA: fuck you.   
CA: glub

caligulasAquarium [CA] has left the conversation

         

* * *

 

 

          The restaurant that they arrive at isn’t as fancy as Sollux expects, but still dons the ‘Yellows and Below Need Not Enter’ sign. Kanaya displays her jade green prominently on her outfit, forgoing the red that she usually wears for blues. As they idle in the car in the busy parking lot, Feferi turns to her moirail.

          “I’m going to at least try to convince them to let Sollux in as a regular guest.”

          Eridan slaps the steering wheel. “Fef, would you use your fuckin’ thinkpan?” He shakes his head when he notices the slight look of hurt on her face. “You’re bein’ real nice an’ all but you’ve got to let some things be.”

          Feferi opens her mouth to have at him, but Kanaya interrupts from the back seat. “I think what Eridan is trying and failing to convey is that, should you fail to convince the staff to let Sollux in as a guest, plan B won’t work.”

          “It’s okay, FF,” Sollux says. His head is tucked against the glass of the car window, cooling his burning forehead on the window. “It’s really not a big deal. We can just ask for a private table then grab another chair like we planned; I won't be kneeling on the ground the whole time.”

          “Just let me do the orderin’ around, Fef. I’m a natural an’ they won’t suspect a thing.”

         

          The inside of the restaurant is dim and loud, full of laughter and chatter mingling with the clattering of forks and knives, so much that the soft classical music is hardly audible. The workers are all hemonomous, save for a few passing trolls that identify as managers. There’s a backlog of guests waiting to be seated, and they get a polite ’fifteen mintues’ when Kanaya requests a table for three in a private area.

          A few steps to the side of the host podium is a row of plush benches for waiting, with a space perfect for four trolls to sit. Sollux is about to take a seat, when he feels a clawed hand roughly shove him down until he’s kneeling.

          “Sorry,” Eridan breathes in his ear, but his voice is a bit too amused to stay loyal to his words. “Standard slave stuff.”

          Sollux doesn’t bother muttering curses, since he’s well aware that Eridan is right- slaves don’t sit equal to their owners, but he’s _not_ a slave, and starts to feel really self-conscious kneeling in front of his friends. He tries to kneel relatively straight, acutely aware of the stray eyes that land on him every so often, reminded of Kyrian getting culled for bumping into somebody. He can't imagine that he'd ever get culled for shouching even if he weren't in a nice establishment surrounded by three friends, but he's no longer naive enough to think that he won't get messed with.

          The minutes tick by slowly, with Sollux’s friends carrying out a conversation that he can hardly hear from his spot on the ground when suddenly, something knocks on his head.

          “ _Eridan_ ,” he hears Feferi snap from behind him, and he realizes that the bastard is using his head as a footrest. A jolt of heat goes through him when Eridan shifts his feet so that the heel of his shoe accidently scrapes up his entire horn, then back down again with enough pressure that Sollux actually shivers at the sensation. If he thought it was intentional, he'd be either angry or excited at the prospect of Eridan covertly rubbing his horns, in a public place no less, but he's not sure if Eridan even knows that his horns are unfairly sensitive.

          “What? My legs are getting’ sore from sittin’ like this.”

          The two sea dwellers bicker for a few seconds before the noise in the restaurant picks up again and Sollux is left with nothing to do but stare at a table with four girls and a slave kneeling on the ground, looking much like Sollux must. One of the girls takes an extra plate from the side of the table and loads it up with the weird greens that come on the edges of the meal to make it look fancy, plus a pile of sauce covered vegetables that Sollux assumes the girl didn’t like, and the fatty peripheries of a steak. To say she sets it down on the ground would be generous; she lets it drop the last few inches, throwing a few of the meat scraps onto the carpet.

The slave on the ground scurries to collect the fallen food and shoves it in his mouth like he’s starving- which certainly can’t be the case considering the way his shirt strains around his chubby body. It only takes him a minute to polish off the sparse plate, and when he’s done, he starts to lick off his hands, like he’s an animal, or a pet, or anything but a troll.

The slave looks almost pleased once he finishes up, but he has a sad looking furrowed brow and partly grey eyes deep set in shadow like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks that keep flickering around the room, until they land firmly on Sollux, wherein they pick up confidence, and what could only be described as comradery.

          Sollux tries to glower back- he’s not a slave, and he has absolutely nothing in common with a fudgeblood who’d gladly eat table scraps of some bluebloods and lick his fingers off like it was dinner with the fucking Empress.

          Even if he’s letting Eridan use his head as a footrest.

          The hostess at the podium calls Kanaya over, and when she returns, she beckons for them all to follow to their table.

          “I hate you so fucking much,” Sollux hisses into Eridan’s ear as they round the corner, and he gets a wicked grin in response that makes his blood curdle- he’s lost the privilege of being able to claim platonic hate since his stupid fuckup at the train station, but it’s a funny kind of hate, one that isn’t platonic but sure as hell isn’t caliginous, and for some reason, it’s making him feel like he’s got a ten tonne furry blanket wrapped around his chest.

 

          Their table isn’t nearly as private as they’d asked for, but they’re assured that it’s the most sequestered one in the restaurant; it’s a booth nestled in a corner with a stained glass wall on one side fogging their view of the adjacent table.

          After Kanaya slides in, Feferi grabs Sollux’s hand and pulls him into the booth without a word. They sip at their water quietly, thumbing through the menus containing drink options. Sollux isn’t really sure if he’s going to be allowed to order, so he doesn’t bother looking too closely at the fruity alcohols and milkshakes. God, he could really go for a milkshake, particularly the mint chocolate chip one with the picture that’s making Sollux drool. He asks outright if he’s going to be able to order.

          “Of course you will,” Feferi assures him, but he really can’t trust her idealistic and completely warped perception of the way things work. He loves her to death; she's one of his closest friends, but his patience thins to the width of a razor blade whenever she acts like she runs the planet already.

          “Not if they see your shirt,” is Kanaya’s answer, which satisfies him, even if it makes his stomach feel hollow with how he won’t be consuming a mint chocolate chip milkshake- or anything except for a glass of water.

          An intense aura of hostility crosses through Sollux. When he looks up, he sees that Eridan and Feferi are glaring daggers at each other, eyes met in stubbornness and challenge, and he’s in the crossfire between them. It’s Eridan that breaks the stare. He gives the longest, most over the top sigh, slides off his blue and teal jacket and drapes it across Sollux’s shoulders.

          “May as well not bother shoppin’ again, if you’re just gonna wear my clothes all the time,” he mutters.

          It’s a bit thrilling to button up the jacket- terrifying, since anybody could make a good case that he’s falsely hemoprojecting and get him culled, but the unspoken assumption will be that he’s either a Teal or a Cerulean.

          When the waitress comes around to their table, Sollux orders his milkshake and she jots down the order without question. Eridan orders a whole bottle of wine despite Kanaya and Feferi getting their own drinks, plus some fruity blended drink that Sollux has never heard of.

         

          “EQ’s been talking to Gamzee,” Sollux says between heavenly sips of his milkshake. “He’s on one of those travelling clown ships.”

          Kanaya raises one of her signature groomed brows. “Is he still obviously intoxicated?”

          Sollux shrugs. “Didn’t ask. They set him up with a moirail though.”

          “Set him up? Like those sort a’ palemantic emotions can be forced.” Eridan tips back a whole glass of wine. “Quadrants are all about huntin’ down the one that’s destined for you.”

          Feferi reaches across the table to link her hand in his and give a squeeze. All hostility that had once flowed between them seems to have dissipated. “Like me and you!” she giggles. “And if we hadn’t believed that we were made for each other, we would have never made up.”

          The story of Feferi and Eridan’s fight and reconciliation is the most tired and sappy things that Sollux has ever heard, and he’s heard it about two thousand times.

          Kanaya swoops in to halt the tired vernacular from escaping either of the sea dweller’s mouths. “I’ve been talking to Vriska” she says, and Sollux swears that it’s the voice of a goddess saving him.

          The room drops a few degrees. Save for Kanaya, none of them have a strong desire to talk to the Cerulean, and had it not been for the crossings of mutual friendships, they would have cut contact with her long ago. And yet, curiosity starts to spring up and remind them that yes, they would all still save Vriska Serket from a burning building- they’re almost like a family, like a mismatched pack of lusii and trolls, loathing each other and not being able to live without each other.

          Kanaya continues. “I’d rather this sound like casual information dropping over gossip. We’re moirails again.”

          Eridan’s lip curls in a perverse rendition of a smile. “So what you’re meanin’ is that she’s losin’ it.”

          “Yes,” Kanaya shreds a piece of nail off with her teeth. “But I don’t think you’re one to get smug over that. You would have ‘lost it’ sweeps ago without Feferi.”

          Eridan leans over the table to get a clear shot at Kanaya with his sneer. As he’s about to say something, Feferi cuts in, demonstrating Kanaya’s point perfectly and making the sneer grow into a pout.

          “Maybe we should catch up with her sometime!” she says, and before she can be challenged, turns her attention to the novel of a menu in her clutches. “Mmm, what do you think about the clam chowder?”

          “I think it looks fuckin’ sick is what,” Eridan mutters, barely audible from having his mouth twelve feet deep into his shirt collar. “I’m gettin’ a steak.”

          The sound of Kanaya rolling her eyes can be heard from across the table. “Are you trying to commit suicide from one casual insult?” she sighs into her palm. “You know I’m teasing you, and I have faith that you would have allowed your megalomaniacal genocide complex to blossom into fantasies of subjugation and absolute power in due time either way.”

          The waitress comes around to take their orders before Eridan can respond, but he straightens up and a satisfied smile crosses his lips. Their food comes quickly, quicker than expected, but it’s a table with the heiress, a sea dweller, and the only known Jade on Alternia.

          As Eridan downs cup after cup of wine, he starts to sway gently in time to the classical music from above, not even caring about the way he bumps Sollux’s side again and again until Sollux gets fed up with having his noodles get shaken from his fork and uses his free hand to wrap around Eridan’s waist and try to steady him.

          He uses a firm touch, one that’s angry rather than affectionate, and it’s not hard to keep his jaw clenched in annoyance, but Eridan tips back the last of the bottle and winds his own arm around Sollux.

          Kanaya and Feferi are locked in a deep discussion about fate and clouds and don’t see their drunk companion flop his head on Sollux’s shoulder like a water balloon, and purse his lips to whisper, “Gettin’ _feisty_ tonight, Captor,” into his ear.

          Sollux shakes his head and laughs in a disbelief that masks his intense discomfort and self-consciousness. His eyes flitter about rapidly, coming to rest on the borrowed jacket connoting him as a blueblood, wherein he relaxes slightly. Oddly enough, it’s Nepeta that he starts to think of, and how she spends so much of her life pretending things. He’s never understood, but when he lets the blue and teal fill his vision, convincing him with some reservation that he _is_ a blueblood, he wonders why he’s never tried it before.

          He’s never wanted to be a blueblood. Discounting the drawbacks- the internal struggles to stay docile, the volatility and anger, the lack of psychic power- Sollux is a troll firmly rooted in reality. He will never be a highblood, so to allow himself to want to be one would be doing a massive disservice to himself. He’s done a great deal to be at peace with the yellow of his bloodstream, convincing himself that his psionics are more valuable than living for hundreds of sweeps, that his relative sanity is better than being able to take the back way home without having to run, and that having other lowbloods to bitch with is far better than having to accept that all of his neighbours would want to backstab him and get him culled.

 

          All of those pseudo-facts start to crumble away when he knows that if he were in his t-shirt, he would be on the ground, and he damn well wouldn’t have a drunk sea dweller slurring out the words of a pirate’s drinking song against his neck, breath cool and warm all at once.

          “Mmm, you’re so hot,” Eridan whispers once his brainkilling song is done. He starts laughing maniacally. “Warm, I mean you’re warm. Like a fuckin’ bonfire. Or… fuckin’… a fuckin’ engine.”

          _Engine_. The word slams straight into Sollux’s brain, and he isn’t sure why, or if it’s an overreaction, but he elbows Eridan off of him. No, it _is_ an overreaction, he realizes when Eridan’s eyes get squinty and confused and even a bit angry behind his glasses, but fuck, don’t they both know that’s one of the lowest and most degrading insults you can give to a psionic? Pissblood, gutterblood, sludgeblood, half-centennial, fifty, butter bulge, lemon, sparkler- he’s heard them all, from the bland slurs on his caste to the slightly more stinging ones on his fifty sweep lifespan, but not from his friends- not since they started being friends, anyway. He gets ‘peasant’ and ‘mustardblood’ all the goddamn time, but they’re nothing, just weightless words. Descriptions.

          “What, what’re you flippin’ out at me for?” Eridan slurs a bit too loud, grabbing for the last drops of his fruity drink. Feferi and Kanaya look up. “I said you’re fuckin’ warm, an’ you’re fuckin’ hot, you’re like the engine of a goddamn spaceship, don’t get all pissed ‘cause your body works up a sweat pumpin’ all that Dijon.”

          Feferi snatches Eridan’s wrist and hisses his name between her scolding mouth. He manages to yank it away, fumbling to stand up and pounding on the table with his hand that is now covered in wet, rich violet welts from her nails.

          “We all know that you’re burnin’ out so fast you could fit seventy a’ your lives in mine, all I’m sayin’ is that it’s a damn good thing that you feel so nice an’ warm ‘cause-“

          Oh, he’s warm alright. Sollux’s blood is _boiling_ by the time Eridan starts on his first word, so much that the sea dweller only gets a couple sentences out before Sollux stands up to meet him face to face and deck him right in the jaw.

          Trapped between the booth and the table, Eridan tips over with his arms out to swipe cups and plates onto the pristine carpet, but he’s up in an instant, eyes flaring in thoughtless violence, and he pounces onto the psionic, sending them both rolling off the booth seat and onto the ground, where the thrashing of Sollux’s feet and the careless sparking of his psionics in the struggle to get out from underneath him sends the table flying with an ear splitting bang.

          Feferi immediately makes to grab at her moirail’s shirt, but the second her hand makes contact, he wheels back and yanks her hair, still spitting and snarling. He has the clear advantage, unrelenting even as Sollux’s nose starts to gush out more blood than he thought he had in his whole body, splattering on the teal and blue jacket and making Eridan even more livid.

          “Get my fuckin’ jacket off, you fuckin’- you fuckin’ pissblooded trashspittin’ mudsuckin’-“

          A massive Cerulean from the crowd that had formed around their fight dives down to drag Sollux off of the floor, squeezing his neck and dangling him just high enough from the floor that on his tiptoes, it’s not quite enough to give him any footing. Sollux’s psionics flare madly, crackling across the Cerulean’s whole arm, but they’re just tingles on his thick skin, and he keeps Sollux’s dripping yellow face still for Eridan to strike across with all his claws and all his rings, leaving a couple of deep, deep gashes that spurt a few drops before settling to a pulsing stream.

          Feferi jumps up to tackle Eridan from behind before he can deliver another punch, shooshing in his ear frantically and papping violet smears down his face. From where he’s struggling to relieve the pressure around his neck, Sollux sees Eridan go through phases: first, he looks exhausted but still bloodthirsty, then, as Feferi keeps up her pace, he begins to relax in her arms, and then his lips part in horrified revelation.

          The Cerulean from the crowd uses his free hand to trace a finger through the pools of blood on the blue jacket, silently demonstrating the discrepancy, and squeezes tighter. The horde of onlookers start shouting excited somethings that Sollux can’t hear through the white static and blazing psionics overtaking his head as his air gets cut off and the veins of his neck press shut, and the only thing that he sees is a blur of teal and blue and purple and violet, all the colours that are better than his own, and all the colours that have the right to snap his neck.


	6. The Hiding Spots and Open Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** THIS CHAPTER HAS A DUB-CON WARNING ***
> 
> I have some really belated notes on troll biology I should add. You’ve probably gathered quite a bit from chapter 4, but here we go: trolls have nooks/tentabulges, which are pretty common so I don’t need think I need to explain that. 
> 
> Seedflaps are sensitive non-voluntary sphincters (if you know a bit about biology, this’ll make more sense) that hold in genetic material and release it after enough stimulation and coincide with sexual climax, which lasts until there is no more genetic material to release, which can be quite a while. During climax, they have to continue being stimulated or else the seedflap will close up again which can be really uncomfortable- unless it is forced open, which would be very painful but would still trigger climax and release of genetic material. It takes about 24 hours to accumulate an adequate amount of genetic material, assuming regular hydration. 
> 
> Nooks and tentabulges are used solely for stimulation since their purpose was lost once troll society switched over to the Imperial Drones/Mother Grub system of reproduction.

There are four scars on Sollux Captor’s body. Or- perhaps that would be a bit of a hasty statement; there _were_ four scars on his body for perigrees, before he had been spackled with lacerations from a discipline whip and bestowed with two long gnarled lines across his ribs.

The first scar that he would reveal if pressed is a tiny indent on the very upper portion of his forehead usually obscured by his cascade of fringe, received by the unremarkable and predictable means of tripping over the old computer monitor sitting on the floor waiting to be hauled away to the trash and banged his forehead on the desk.  

The second is a faded glossy-white hashtag shaped scrape on his lower calf that he had gotten what feels like a lifetime ago. It was back when he was still waiting eagerly to reach four feet tall, back before he even knew what coding was, in the days where he had nothing but free time and wasn’t constantly squeezing the shackles of perfectionism and single-minded obsession tighter around his wrists. He was happier then, bold a statement as that may be; in those days, a smile was commonplace on his face. Aradia was alive.  

With nothing but time and doting lusii, they went on archeological digs through the ruins of farmlands around Aradia’s rural hive, spending nights and nights camping to make it worth the long trip. Her powers were similar to his own but not identical; regardless, she was always careless in the way she telepathically flung rocks around and those were the days that being around her gave Sollux tunnel vision of her smile, and a rock slipped too close by him and had scraped all the skin off of his shin. He hadn’t noticed.

The third is a dramatically raised asterisk mark with a crescent shape next to it, faded to almost light grey but still holding on to the last remnants of yellow, according to people with fully functioning colour vision. It was one of his more painful experiences, and now one of his more bittersweet memories due to it involving what he so mawkishly nicknamed ‘The Good Times’, where Aradia was alive and bright and Tavros could walk- and was alive- and Terezi could see- and was alive- and Karkat and himself had seven hour conversations- and Karkat was alive. Feferi and himself had yet to enter a quadrant, but they spent most of The Good Times tangoing in an exhilarating flirtmance that sent Sollux to sleep eager to wake up in the morning. He figures that’s the reason why they were The Good Times. He hasn’t wanted to wake up and face the night since, not regularly at least, nor has he ever felt a shred of mysterious excitement about what might befall him in the future.

Not to say that he’s depressed- quite contrary; he’s a realist, a practicalist, a skeptic. While the days and nights bring neither misery nor exhilaration, they hold within them a certain cloudiness, a thick fog clogging his emotions. They’re days, they’re nights, time goes by, and it’s boring, it’s been boring and generally shitty for so long that he’s far past the point of expecting great things to come from the passage of time that he’s resigned himself to living in the jaundiced state. Such a decision was not one that he made consciously, nor is it one he chooses to dwell on.  

In any case, one bright starry night in the middle of The Good Times had Feferi and himself and Karkat fishing on a dock near Eridan’s hive- Eridan, during The Good Times had a full set of twitching fins on his body and was off in the deep trying to impress them all by catching squid. He eventually caught one, and as they were dissecting it later on, Sollux grabbed the ink sac and squirted it all over his face. That’s not how he got the scar, though it could’ve been if he were a shade slower.

          Feferi’s terrible at fishing with a rod. The girl can catch a whole school with her bare hands, but she had swung the rod back at a funny angle, sending it up at an angle ever so slightly above ninety degrees, and it had come down to hook itself firmly in Sollux’s forearm, looped around in the skin so tightly that Karkat had to dig it out with his sickle.

          The fourth scar was cut in his skin during the period of time long after The Good Times, that stretch of perigrees that started halfway through his matespritship with Feferi and extended all the way until the time he had arrived at his hive with a backpack full of dirty clothes smelling of salt and ocean and found no violet coloured messages waiting for him, only to realize that the lack of wavy written words gave him a pressure in his chest that he had to wash away with three spoonfulls of peanut butter and four hours of video games. He called them The Great Times, or at least he would if he were feeling unapologetically sappy.

          It’s his worst scar by a long shot, the most painful, and the only time that he ever thought without any sense of doubt or rationality that he was going to die.

          Eridan once taught him how to fire Ahab’s Crosshairs. He had given the hands on method, the kind that you see on tender cop shows. The gun was kind of cool, shooting white beams of lightning that could melt their way unashamedly through cold stone in the exact same way that Sollux’s psionics could if they were better trained. They were practicing on a rock islet close to the shore, firing off at the trees on the vacant peninsula nearby.

          _I can hold it in one hand_ , Eridan had told him with a puff of his chest, _but you’ll want to take your hands like this_ \- he had slid their palms together to rearrange Sollux’s body in a way that had been a bit frustrating and condescending back then, but if it had been half a sweep later, Sollux would have had to jump into the ocean to stop himself from burning to a crisp.

          It was thrilling to have such power in his hands, to be able to blast down ten trees in one shot, but even as he tried to shake Eridan off of him and let him take one measly shot by himself, the sea dweller was paranoid, keeping his ringed finger firmly on top of Sollux’s and controlling every squeeze of the trigger. Sollux jerked the gun closer to himself, trying to shake it from Eridan’s grip. _I can take one goddamn shot by myself,_ he had snapped, and Eridan had gotten jumpy and started attempting to pry Sollux’s fingers from around the trigger unsuccessfully. Sollux had then somehow tipped the gun downward and brought every one of Eridan’s fears to light, misplacing his finger and allowing the diamond tip of the rifle to press up against his thigh for the split second as it fired off a shot at the rock and sent them both backwards into the water.

          He couldn’t walk for six weeks. The blast had melted a hole through his bone and ripped a solid chunk of his flesh and muscle off. When they got up on the sand, his thigh was spraying blood like a geyser all over the both of them, rustling the curtains of skin hanging over the remains of his leg.

          Sollux actually felt his life slip away once the blood loss caught up to him, white clouds covering his eyes with rainbows bristling in the corners and a pleasant weightless in his chest overtaking him, but he felt Feferi’s hands on his chest before he even realized that she was there, grazing lightly overtop of his bare skin in a bizarre pattern, then pressing down harder and opening up his lungs to make him feel more alive than he’d ever felt before. They had taken him to the only mediculling centre miles and miles away, and slipped the doctoperator a massive wad of cash to make sure that Sollux would be able to walk again.

But in the bloodied haze of pain and panic, Sollux had managed to drag himself back to shore, which is exactly why he’s certain that he isn’t going to die by suffocation in a crowd of bluebloods.

Feferi screams futile pleas at the crowd to let Sollux go, cradling Eridan’s head in her chest, still putting her energy into shooshing him and papping him. The rev of a chainsaw overtakes her, and in an instant, Kanaya is lunging forward with a dignified fire to her eyes, the exact opposite of how Eridan’s had been earlier. Kanaya’s eyes have the look of clarity to them, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she is in complete control of her anger, using it as a tool rather than the anger using her as a tool.

          The hand doesn’t leave Sollux’s throat. It leaves the Cerulean’s arm.

          A warm wave of blue blood covers both Sollux and Kanaya, and Sollux uses the split second of shock to deliver what can only be described as an oversized electrical punch to the Cerulean’s face, cracking half of his horn off and sending his head back so violently that a snap can be heard even over the slowing rev of the chainsaw and the screams of the crowd. The Cerulean crumples to the ground with glazed eyes.

          Kanaya processes everything much faster than Sollux, grabbing his wrist and yanking him along as they make a break for any kind of escape. Rivers of blood stream across Sollux’s face as he runs, sending yellow droplets dancing behind him for the half dozen bluebloods that have chosen to pursue them. Kanaya leads them through the only clear path into the kitchen, and they barge through the chefs that curse and spit but make no attempt to catch them, right out to the back door where she pulls them both into the darkness of what is thankfully the recycle dumpster.

          They had achieved enough of a lead that the blueblood chasers round the bend onto the street with the assumption that the two had ran off that way, but they stay in the recycle bin, hearts pounding and breath short for a long time. Kanaya eventually reaches out for Sollux, pulling him into a quick, tight hug.

          “Will you be okay?” she whispers, and Sollux shakes his head because he knows that they’re in the dark.

          “Yeah.”

          “I’ll take you to my and Nepeta’s hive. You’re in dire need of sopor.”

          Sollux doesn’t bother arguing, taking her hand and letting her lead the way.

 

          Equius comes around early to take Nepeta to her sweet shop, picking up Sollux as well. He’s thankful for the casualness that they treat him with, chatting with him in the car about sports and animals despite the colossal scabss across Sollux’s face. When Nepeta gets dropped off, the two keep conversation easily, continuing idle chatter about a sitcom that they both catch on TV off and on. There’s an ease to Equius as he drives and the air is clear of condescension. He actually laughs twice- low, ‘heh heh’ sounds that come out when Sollux brings up some stupid scene that he saw where a bunch of adult businesstrolls attempt parkour. It comes as a pleasant surprise to Sollux- he knows Equius mostly by association, as most of them do save for Nepeta and Gamzee, and had never thought of the troll as just another person that laughs and gets bored like everyone else.

          They keep to themselves at the workshop, with Sollux on the second floor computers and Equius going in and out of rooms downstairs, only occasionally ascending to the balcony to heap a pile of robotics, blank chips, and handwritten documentation onto a table and give Sollux a summary of what he has to do before they give hasty nods to each other and retreat to their respective jobs.

          Equius is a terrible boss by Alternian standards, meaning that he’s an outstanding boss by Sollux’s standards in that he doesn’t care what Sollux concerns himself with during the night so long as the job gets done in the end, meaning that most of his time is spent browsing the web and logged onto trollian. Two hours into the night, he starts to forget about the scabs across his face and the burning rage smouldering inside his chest and checks his messages. There are new ones from the three people he was expecting, and also one from Aradia, which he checks first.

apocalypseArisen [AA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA]

       AA: im making pr0gress  
       AA: i heard karkats v0ice  
       AA: i supp0se its because hes s0 l0ud even in death  
       AA: y0u arent even there are y0u  
       AA: 0h well  
       TA: ii don't want two talk two hiim or any of them iif you fiind them.  
       AA: yes y0u d0 they tell me y0u d0  
       TA: okay ii do NOT expect you two under2tand thii2 becau2e of the whole dead thiing but do you not get that iit'2 been really fuckiing hard tryiing two get over them and ju2t when ii've               2tarted makiing a biit of peace about the whole matter you go and tell me that ii get to have a jolly old rekiindliing of dead bromance wiith KK, iit ii2 A WEE BIIT paiinful for me, okay?  
       AA: if y0u say s0  
       AA: i d0nt want t0 cause y0u pain s0llux and y0u kn0w that  
       AA: its what y0u want th0ugh deep d0wn  
       AA: at least think ab0ut it  
       AA: its hard f0r me t00 y0u kn0w  
       TA: nothiing ii2 hard for you, you don't even have feeliing2.  
       AA: i want t0 die  
       TA: ehehe hate two break iit two you but you ARE dead.  
       AA: i mean  
       AA: cease t0 exist and j0in the fl0w 0f existence  
       AA: 0r the afterlife if y0u prefer  
       TA: are you 2ayiing that you know what the afterliife ii2 liike and there actually II2 one?  
       AA: n0t pers0nally and yes there is  
       AA: ive never cr0ssed 0ver  
       AA: i have just been the facilitat0r 0f m0tion between mediums  
       AA: the gatekeeper s0 t0 speak  
       TA: wow, 2o 2pooky.   
       TA: are our gho2tly friiend2 hangiing out playiing gho2t viideo game2.  
       AA: n0  
       AA: i d0nt kn0w what its like exactly but it l00ks s0 nice  
       AA: i want it but i d0nt understand why   
       AA: i feel like i want it i d0nt kn0w that i want it  
       AA: bye  
       TA: waiit, you aren't leaviing for good are you?  
       AA: n0  
       AA: theres a fr0g i want t0 t0uch

grimAuxillatrix [GA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA]

       GA: Make Sure You Drink Plenty Of Water  
       GA: If You Start Bleeding Again Apply Ointment  
       GA: Let Me Know How Youre Faring By The End Of The Night  
       TA: ii’m doiing fiine. a biit 2ore but not bleediing.   
       GA: If You Dont Have A Water Bottle Next To You I Am Going To Be Angry  
       TA: FIINE ii’ll go get one riight now.

          Sollux scowls at his screen before opening up the messages from Feferi. He feels a twinge of guilt at his reaction- he doesn’t have a good reason to be mad at her, other than the fact that she’s the moirail of the troll that beat him to a pulp last night.

cuttlefishCuller [CC] messaged twinArmageddons [TA]  
  
       CC: Are you okay?  
       CC: I'm reelly worried about you...  
       CC: Let me know!  
       TA: ii'm doiing fiine. KA'2 hawkiing over me 24/7 makiing 2ure ii 2tay hydrated etc.  
       CC: T)(hank COD!  
       CC: We're bot)( so concerned! 38(  
       TA: thank2 ii gue22.  
       CC: Glub glub glub.  
       CC: )(ave you glubbed wit)( -Eridan yet?? 38\  
       TA: no.  
       CC: Well )(e's R-E-ELY s)(orey!  
       TA: ii don't want two talk two hiim.  
       CC: 38C I fink t)(is was a BIG misundersanding!  
       CC: And unfortunately, coolbloods las)( out easy...  
       TA: ...  
       CC: I'm not trying to blame you!!  
       CC: I just )(ope we can all still be friends... 38C

 

          There’s an unignorable mountain of messages from Eridan that keeps growing and growing every second that he spends staring at the line ‘caligulasAquarium (24,311)’. The tally of messages that they’ve sent back and forth rises to 24,314 by the time Sollux sends out a response.

 

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 12 hours ago

       CA: i am so fuckin sorry you have NO idea  
       CA: im the wworlds wworst horrible shit mongerer

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 10 hours ago

       CA: i dont knoww wwhat to evven say here i fucked up somethin FIERCE an i feel so awwful

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 2 hours ago

       CA: are you there  
       CA: howws your face feelin any better

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 1 hour ago

       CA: are you dodgin my messages

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] 18 minutes ago  
  
       CA: are you goin to forgivve me evver  
       CA: methinks you SHOULD because youre my friend an it wwould be mighty shitty for us to lose that wwe havve some special platonic bromance goin on here i cant let that go  
  
caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA] less than 1 minute ago  
  
       CA: i knoww youre there the thing says read message  
       CA: can wwe talk maybe iron this wwhole shebang out  
       CA: howws your face  
       CA: anythin infected  
       CA: i can pay for the hospital i wwill you knoww id do that for you  
       TA: ii'll liiive.  
       CA: oh thank cod FINALLY thats a relief  
       CA: but anywway i wwas thinkin maybe you wwanted to come over today im bored as FUCK in this beige ass penthivve  
       TA: no.  
       CA: wwhat are you busy right noww thats cool i guess  
       TA: ii'm actually workiing up a 2weat burniing my fiifty year fu2e over iin my 2hiity hiive2tem.  
       TA: prepariing two get wiired up two a 2hiip etc.  
       CA: ok i get it youre still a bit cross wwith me can wwe just put it behind us chaulk it up as us being drunk an let it drop  
       TA: US beiing drunk??  
       CA: yeah wwell thats bein mighty generous a me you punched me NUMEROUS times an ill havve you knoww i havve a black eye  
       CA: i wwas pretty irate wwith you before i decided it wwould be best wwe reconciled   
       TA: what are you TALKIING ABOUT? how ii2 iit iin ANY way my fault.  
       CA: okay i nevver said that but YOU PUNCHED ME  
       TA: DIID YOU WANT TWO TAKE A LOOK AT MY FUCKIING FACE RIIGHT NOW?  
       CA: i havve a black eye you knoww an it is PRETTY ghastly fef made me ice it an everythin  
       TA: OH WELL let'2 all get out our tiiny viioliin2, the a22hole got a booboo.  
       CA: i dont appreciate you makin light a my wwoe  
       TA: you're 2o fuckiing deluded and pathetiic, ii don't know iif ii 2hould laugh or cry.  
       CA: wwhat  
       TA: you know what? don't fuckiing contact me agaiin, okay?  
       CA: i said i wwas sorry  
       TA: ii thiink iit'2 be2t iif we ju2t went our 2eparate way2.  
       TA: 2o ii fiigure we 2hould ju2t delete each other off of our contact lii2t2.  
       TA: bye.  
       CA: you wwont  
       TA: ii thiink ii have every riight two after you made fun of my laughable liife2pan and generally hiideous innard2 and then punched me a few tiime2 and let some a22hole choke me whiile you punched me AGAIIN, and THEN 2tarted two claiim that ii wa2 the a22hole iin thii2 2iituatiion, how diid ii ever thiink you were a tolerable per2on, ii'll never know.  
       CA: youll block me but you wwont delete me  
       CA: you cant youre flushed for me you knoww it an i knoww it too  
       TA: PI22 OFF. I FUCKIING HATE YOU, you're the mo2t iin2ufferable PRIICK II'VE EVER MET.  
       TA: ii hope you choke on the fuckiing water you're two 2cared two 2wiim iin you piiece of 2hiit.  
       TA: ii hope you get laughed out of the arii2tocracy for beiing two FUCKED UP TWO LIIVE UNDERWATER and ii hope they reopen EVERY GODDAMN 2CAR YOU'VE EVER GOTTEN FROM BEIING 2UCH A 2HIITTY HUNTER.  
       CA: OKAY I GET IT   
       CA: JUST STOP WWITH THAT LINE A INSULTS  
       CA: you knoww DAMN WWELL it hurts  
       TA: gue22 what el2e hurt? MY FACE WHEN YOU CLAWED IIT UP.  
       TA: oh, and gue22 what el2e? CALLIING ME A JET ENGIINE.  
       CA: HOWW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO APOLOGIZE????  
       CA: you dont need to start dredgin this up ok i get it i cant be underwwater proper   
       CA: i TOLD you because i TRUSTED you to not be a petulent jerk about it  
       CA: i fuckin hate you so much right noww  
       CA: i hate you so platonically it hurts  
       TA: liikewii2e.  
       CA: AS IF you arent blacker than coal right noww  
       CA: you wwant me so bad in wwhatevver quadrant wwill let you get a lick a some vviolet

twinArmageddons [TA] blocked caligulasAquarium [CA]

 

          Sollux mashes his thumb over the block button as if the sheer rage echoing through his fingers will somehow send itself through the phone and straight into Eridan’s haughty little smirk. With shaking hands, he hovers over the ‘delete contact’ button, drawing nearer and nearer, but when he thinks of the other 24,000 messages, his finger freezes and refuses to make contact.

          He hurls the phone at the wall instead. The back cover comes off, sending the battery skittering across the floor.

 

          Sollux finishes up early and takes off with only so much as a muttered ‘See you tomorrow’ at Equius, who is doused in sweat behind a robot twice the size that he is. Equius tosses the towel from around his shoulders to the soggy pile on the corner and demands that Sollux get him a fresh stack, which he does without argument- it’s way easier and much faster to comply.

          The bus ride back to his penthive is tediously long and nasty, winding from the clean edged warehouses to the run down shithives dotting the streets closer to Sollux’s hivestem, until they pick up in quality slightly to take him to the tidy skyscraper that he lives in.

          When he moved, he released his lusus, like a lot of trolls do. He hadn’t expected to feel any sort of anything, but when the bicyclops gave him a friendly knock on the head in parting, Sollux felt a split second of remorse. But he can’t take it back- he can’t take care of such a needy lusus now that he’s an adult and has other responsibilities. Still, the building looks almost wrong without a big leashed lusus on the roof grumbling for food.

          As he steps off of the stairs into the hallway of his floor, he sees an open door, of which he’s certain cannot be his, as Sollux has been living in a communal hivestem for all of his life, and is deeply ingrained in the habit of locking his door and jiggling the handle just to make sure it’s shut tight.

          It’s his door.

 

          Sollux fully expects to see his block ravished and torn apart by robbers, but everything is in perfect order- or maybe it would be better to say that it’s the same as Sollux left it, far from perfect order. The only thing that was not there when Sollux left was a smirking, black-eyed fish prince draped across his chair.

          “You know they’ll just _give_ me your keys if I say I own you?”

          “Get the fuck out of my hive. What the fuck are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home ‘nursing your black eye’?”

          Eridan swings his feet up to rest on the table. Bits of dirt from the bottom of his shoe flake off. He twirls the spare key ring around his finger. Something about the way he looks so sure of himself, like he knows something that Sollux doesn’t, like he’s won at a game that Sollux doesn’t even know that they’re playing, causes the psionic to stay in the doorway.

          “I’m gonna do you a big favour. Shut the door.”

          Just to piss him off, Sollux doesn’t.

          “Shut the fuckin’ door.”

          “Not until you tell me why the fuck you decided to break into my hive after proving yourself to be the most pathetic troll to ever exist.”

          Eridan stands up, busting into one of his more wicked grins that chills the whole room. His fingers move to ghost over the clasp of his cape. “You want me,” he says in the same wicked, haughty tone that was so evident over text, amused enough to be mocking and confident enough to be smug. “Well, I’m gonna let you have me. Shut the door.”

          Sollux stays frozen, not by choice. Is he seriously…? The sea dweller is forward, sure, but never with pailing. Hell, Sollux doesn’t even know if any of them have ever pailed before, considering it was only a few perigrees ago that they stopped giggling over buckets.

          More of that white-hot anger fills Sollux, for reasons that he isn’t entirely conscious of, and when the door slams shut via Eridan shoving them both against it, pinning Sollux’s shoulders to the door and diving in for a wet and sloppy kiss, Sollux snarls and bites back, and in seconds they’re clashing fangs and dragging their claws all over each other, drawing all their anger at each other up from their chests and channelling it out though their teeth and tongues.

          By the time their angry kissing fall short of satisfaction and they crash to the ground scratching and cursing, Sollux comes to realize that he doesn’t want to do this. He hates that he doesn’t want to, because he’s wrapped up in hate for Eridan for all the awful things that he’s said and done, but there’s still a huge part of him stuck in the past that wants to make gentle sweeps of his palms up Eridan’s sides and cover the tips of his fangs with his tongue to nibble and suck just hard enough at the other troll’s neck to leave a tiny violet mark, and that part of him is screaming at him to stop, because if they consummate their hatred, that’s it- they’re never going to fall asleep on the couch together in the middle of a shitty movie, and they’re never even going to laugh over the stupid shit that other people say and do, or stay up until the sun rises playing Alternia’s Dark Hour locked in a deep discussion over the game mechanics. They’re just going to hate each other and fuck each other and leave as soon as they’re done.

          But everything that Sollux is thinking is making him hate the sea dweller that much more- he hates that he hates Eridan, he hates that Eridan hates him, he hates how Eridan knows how red Sollux is and taunts him with it and decided to spend his night dangling it right in front of Sollux’s face by touching him and kissing him but giving him exact opposite of flushed and in love. 

          But if Sollux is a slow rolling loathing, Eridan is a hot flickering rage, clawing up even more cuts to join the scabbed over ones from the night before, distracting Sollux long enough to grab at his scarf and wrap it around Sollux’s mouth to gag him, then flipping him over to keep his wrists bound tightly behind him. Hell if he’s going to take that- Sollux starts kicking and wiggling, sparking psionics at wherever he thinks Eridan is until he feels his jeans and underwear get yanked off, a task made easy by how loose he wears them.

          He manages to get a solid kick in Eridan’s face, but the sea dweller shakes it off and yanks at the scarf binding Sollux, gagging him tighter so that his teeth are gnashed onto the knitted fabric and his wrists mash together even tighter.

          “You’re fuckin’ irascible sometimes, you fuckin’ gutterbloods,” Eridan hisses through his teeth, managing to clamp down on each one of Sollux’s ankles for long enough to tie what feels like electronics cord around them. “Tryin’ to do this the easy way but you just won’t…” He spreads Sollux’s legs apart wide enough that his half-unsheathed bulges are almost touching the carpet, securing them around table legs and the bottom leg of the couch, then drapes his fully clothed body over Sollux’s and tucks his head down until his breath is hot and electric on Sollux’s neck to finish his thought and whisper, “Behave.”

          Sollux struggles at the bindings, trying to shift and move to give himself some slack, but Eridan is on top of him forcing his shoulders to the ground and pressing his cheek to the rough carpet while fangs scrape their way down his neck and cause his bulges to fully emerge. The cords around his ankles are thick and tight, not enough to cut off circulation but enough to feel as such, and the scarf in his mouth sucks up his spit and dries his mouth even more than it would already be by having Eridan’s body all over his, and when the sea dweller starts to grind his fully clothed hips into Sollux’s back in a taunting simulation of what Sollux is getting more and more desperate for, his eyes squeeze shut and he can’t quite manage to hold back a needy whine around the fabric.

          As much as Sollux wants to get their bucket filled and over with, Eridan’s deliberate strokes of claws up and down Sollux’s sides, gentle and threatening all at once, draw him up to the edges of anticipation. He wants to scream ‘get on with it’ or something similar, but with the gag in his mouth, everything that he says comes out as a garbled snarl, making Eridan snicker and give a teasing squeeze of Sollux’s sides.

          It’s nerve racking, being tied up and bleeding and vulnerable, even with the defense of psionics, but more than anything, it adds to the stewing pit of shame inside Sollux, more so than ever when the genetic material of his nook starts running in yellow streams down his thighs and onto the carpet as a filthy testament of how badly he’s lying to himself when he says he doesn’t want this.

          Eridan brings himself back up to Sollux’s ear to ask if he’s ready in a jeeringly caring manner, like the two growing wet patches on the carpet aren’t enough indication, and Sollux attempts to roll his eyes and tell him that his pinky finger will probably be bigger than his bulge, but the sound of Eridan’s thumb against the button on his pants sends a twinge of eagerness through Sollux’s nook, and instead he finds himself grinding his teeth into the fabric of the scarf and nodding fast enough to make himself light headed.

          The backs of Eridan’s claws run from the first notch of Sollux’s spine all the way down his body, where they come to rest at the very edge of his tailbone, then continue downward where two fingers press themselves not into Sollux’s waiting nook or even onto his bulges, but into his waste chute, immediately working at relaxing his muscles by twisting and massaging inside of him, adding a third and a fourth way too fast and forcing Sollux to gasp and press his forehead to the carpet with clenched fists.

          Though Sollux can’t see, he hears Eridan’s breath pick up and cover his moans with shuddering sighs, and when Eridan’s fingers pull out to immediately replace themselves with the warm and slick ones of his other hand, he knows that they’re covered with violet genetic material, and it makes his body ache, because how many times has Sollux knelt over a pail feverishly dreaming of getting his own fingers slathered with violet from getting deep inside of Eridan?

          As Eridan’s slickened fingers pump deeper and rub certain spots that Sollux was not aware could feel so fucking good, all the pain and discomfort fades into a pleasure that makes Sollux’s knees threaten to fall in, and his teeth clench around the scarf to try and hold back throaty moans. The twinge inside Sollux’s nook swells to a brutal throbbing, and the high pitched sound that leaves his mouth when his own bulges wrap around to work their way inside his nook turns his whole body flush with embarrassment before his mind goes blank with the heavenly pleasure of his nook finally being filled and his bulges feeling Eridan’s fingers work his waste chute with every twisting thrust.

          He’s on the edge of what will no doubt be the highest point of pleasure his body can ever hope to reach, thrusting his hips blindly into the carpet while his own bulges pound into him and feeling the corners of his eyes bead with tears, breath coming in in gasps and out in wails that he’s sure not just the neighbours, but the whole damn floor can hear, when Eridan slaps a palm over Sollux’s trembling seedflap, holding the genetic material in and cutting off his climax.

          Sollux thrashes at his ties, wiggling his hips and begging through the gag for Eridan to please, _please_ take his goddamn fucking hand off, but they turn into muffled screams and sobs of delirious frustration the second Eridan yanks the belt from his pants to wrap around Sollux’s hips, drawing his bulges out of his nook and belting them in to press against his stomach. Genetic fluid spills from his nook in their wake as if pleading for Eridan’s bulge to take over, but the sea dweller gives a low, dark chuckle usually reserved for roleplaying and presses the tip of his bulge up against Sollux’s waste chute to work itself inside, mocking his infuriation and making his nook feel so empty and needing.

          Sollux’s pleasure simmers down to where he’s contented to be face down on the carpet, still squirming and giving the odd spark, but largely hopeless about getting the upper hand- he lost that as soon as he let his red feelings slip weeks ago, growing impatient from the sporadic thrusts of Eridan that seem to go on forever, picking up in speed until Eridan’s chin is resting on Sollux’s neck and he’s moaning in his ear how he’s about to- about to-, but he shoves his hips against Sollux harder and faster and can’t get there, and he exhausts himself and slows down, venting out his frustrations with excruciating bites into the muscles between Sollux’s neck and shoulder and making the cold blood dripping onto the carpet mimic the heavy coat of genetic fluid ruining the carpet between Sollux’s parted legs.

          Sollux swears that they’ve been on the floor in the same cycle for a couple hours, and his attempts to use psionics to draw Eridan’s bulge over to his nook that he knows damn well is hotter and wetter and could make Eridan spill into the bucket despite whatever problem’s he’s having get spoiled every time by a hard slap anywhere from his stomach to his thighs and in between.

          All at once, Eridan slips the scarf from between Sollux’s lips, letting him pant out an unhindered, “Please please _please_ fuck my nook,” that he’s been letting himself moan out only because his words were unintelligible, and Sollux bites his lip in humiliation and vexation, but it quickly turns to an attempt to not be overwhelmed with sensation when Eridan also unbuckles the belt, letting Sollux’s bulges plunge back into his nook where they delve in to get right to the spots they know will elicit the best response, fighting for a place inside of him with Eridan’s bulge moving in and out beside them.

          Eridan’s thrusts pick up in speed again, but this time his moans are relieved sounding sighs, and his tongue laps at Sollux’s neck between the numerous wet bite marks, making sure not to pick up any of the blood, and his hands lock into Sollux’s hips, hammering them onto his bulge and driving it that extra bit deeper, and he finally starts to come with a groan that melts into the air, parting for the hollow sound of genetic material trickling down into the pail that is again interrupted by a series of moans and whines as the exhaustive fullness of Eridan’s bulge plus his two own cause Sollux’s genetic fluid to be released in heavy spurts instead of a steady stream from the carnality of being stretched and toyed with more than he ever thought could make him feel so good.

          Sollux screams and claws through his entire climax, shuddering and drawing in frantic gasps, toes and fingers curling and digging into his flesh, eyes watering and rolling back as his eyelids flutter and his hips move of their own volition, wrenching themselves in whatever way will get Eridan’s bulge to pound against all of his sweet spots again and again. Eridan finishes up just slightly before him, keeping up his thrusts as the last drops of his drip into the bucket, then relaxing on the still convulsing Sollux to pant in his ear and tickle his horns, causing Sollux to scream even louder and throw his head back until he spends himself completely and collapses on the floor, while his screams fade into whimpers and huffs and pants and he turns bright yellow from the embarrassment of being so vulnerable, so raw- his feelings are his worst enemy and showing them is his greatest fear.

          The tingles that run up and down Sollux’s body feel worse than being electrocuted, and he can barely even move when Eridan unties him with shaking hands and he falls into the puddle of his own genetic material, numb and already aching between his legs. He has only enough energy to grab Eridan to pull him for a kiss- black or red, he doesn’t care, but Eridan jerks his hand away from his shirt and up to his lips to press a kiss to it, grabs the bucket, whispers, “I’m sorry,” and walks out, easing the apartment door shut as he goes, leaving Sollux to face a blast of cold air where Eridan’s body used to be and a sinking feeling that takes him down far below where he ever thought he could go.


	7. Drones and All They Bring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some really important notes on the Alternian calendar. After much analysis of [this post](http://ashkatom.tumblr.com/post/37471185089/after-nattering-even-further-with-jess-heres-my), I came up with a spinoff sort of system to account for trolls using days and weeks. I’ll try to keep it clear:  
> \- Trolls have 2 different seasons, dim and dark, which last for the equivalent of 2 Earth months before swapping. There are 6 dim seasons and 6 dark seasons in a sweep.  
> \- Each season is split into 2 periods of time called perigrees, which are much like Earth months with one very important thing in mind:  
> \- An Alternian day is 48 hours. In the dim season, this is 12 hours of night and 36 hours of day; in the dark season, it’s the other way around.  
> \- There are 15 days per perigree. Weeks are only 4 days long.  
> \- Trolls are grossly overworked because Alternia is a shitty place to live, so the only ‘weekend’ is the first day of every perigree, on the equinox.  
> \- The first perigree in a season is called the perigree and the second is called the perigree’s equinox.  
> \- SO BASICALLY:  
> \- 1 day = 48 hours  
> \- 1 week = 4 days  
> \- 1 perigree = 15 days  
> \- 1 season = 2 perigrees  
> \- 1 sweep = 12 seasons  
> … and that should be all! Currently, we are on the 12th day of the 1st perigree of the 1st dim season, which would be written differently in-universe, but for clarity’s sake, I’m going to keep it simple. Hopefully I haven’t outright contradicted anything from earlier in the story. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry this took such a long time to post. I'm have a general outline of where this story is going, but I'm writing as I go, and I am a horribly slow writer. Thanks for being patient with me.

It takes Eridan twenty minutes of idling his car and trying to lose himself in the sound of his stereo before his hands stop shaking long enough for him to drive the short distance to the Parliamentoring building downtown. Despite the lid that he had thrown over the pail, a few drops of ruddy colored genetic material splash out onto the backseat as Eridan swerves hard to avoid hitting a pedestrian that he hadn’t noticed at first. The contents of the bucket catalyze to black by the time he pulls into the parking lot, sending both relief and grief through Eridan- he had been holding on to the slightest inkling of hope that the slurry they produced would be bright crimson, but if that were the case, he’d be panicking and shaking even worse than he currently is- it would mean that he had just devastated their relationship for nothing.

          The walk up the huge flight of stairs is nothing short of traumatizing, holding nothing but the painful memory of squeezing Karkat in the tightest hug he could muster and bending over to give the same treatment to a sweetly smiling Tavros, and how Eridan had given nothing but a nod to Terezi because he had no idea that it would be the last time he heard her sniff the air.

          And those memories flip to the ones of walking down the line with Feferi and seeing Sollux way at the end with the lowbloods where he looked out of place in his casual slouch and a cool look on his face, like he was going to _win_ the assessments as if that were possible, and how he was fine with the fact that he couldn’t wave back so he had given a nod instead and they had met by the coffee shop after and cried and held each other and Feferi because they trusted one another enough to crack themselves open and show off the weakness inside.

          There are a myriad of things that Sollux had trusted Eridan not to do- the violetblood could abuse his power far beyond hassling a spare key from the landlady; he could buy Sollux as his personal slave for cheaper than a few good pairs of shoes, wire him to a ship or order him to clean the shower with nothing but his toothbrush- but there was trust between them, and Eridan knows very well that he’s ripped it apart, stomped on it and spit on the pieces.

          The inside of the building terrifies him. Subjuggalators hang around in clusters between legions of shiny black imperial drones; more drones sit behind desks tapping into computers looking just as terrifying. There is a short line up of highbloods with filial pails covered in heavy black covers for decency, and when they get called up by a drone, they open the lid and slide the bucket into a hatch where the contents are visible through the glass countertop.

          It’s unbelievably bureaucratic, reducing the most intense feelings that ever go through a troll to a bucket of slurry to be recorded in a database and ranked on intensity. All the panic they cause with their fucking emblazoned pails, the lifetime of conditioning all leading up to a minute of spilling different coloured fluid into different buckets, the dread of wondering if anybody will help you out because you’re too pitiful to hate and too awful to love, and pailing a lowblood is disgusting, like sticking your bulge in a sewer pipe and might give you infections, according to the highbloods, but there’s only a handful of trolls high enough for a sea dweller, and they all have better options.

          The strength of the emotions are clearly evident in the colour that the slurry settles on, ranging from pitch black to a neutral red-grey all the way up to Karkat Red. If the mix isn’t good enough, trolls get to keep trying as long as they get it in by the deadline, which fluctuates depending on caste- sea dwellers get two weeks, and rustbloods have to fill them by the end of the day. Eridan had gotten his bucket just that morning, in the middle of typing out a long apology to Sollux full of insults directed right back at himself, but he had deleted the whole thing and feigned ignorant to get Sollux fired up with hate.

          And it had worked far too well, judging by the near-black contents of the bucket splashing at the rim when Eridan shoves the pail into the hatch, muttering, “Here’s your fuckin’ pail.”

          “Good boy,” the drone hums, taking Eridan’s name into the computer to take him off the caliginous list. “Partner name?” it asks, and Eridan makes to respond but the name sticks in his throat and chokes him. “So we can cross them off the list.”

          “Captor,” Eridan coughs. “Sollux Captor, I mean.”

          The drone makes Eridan stand to the side as it dips a few metres into the bucket to compare DNA and verify, then nods for Eridan to leave.

 

          When he returns to his floor of the Harlight, Eridan takes one step inside the door before sinking down to cradle his knees to his chest, vision filled with hallucinations of black and yellow and the dark ruddy colour that they had made together, and that hadn’t turned red, it had turned black, and even though logic could only dictate it so, they had made hate, black and caliginous and it’s exactly what Eridan wanted, but it _isn’t,_ god damn it, it isn’t at all what he wants.

          Feferi comes in with the spare key that he had given her- upon realizing that the worn down hivestem key is still in his pocket, Eridan hurls it across the room where it chips the edge of an end table holding an impressive vase that Eridan trips over every night.

          “E…ridan?” she says upon seeing him, cautiously with premature sympathy when she catches sight of his watery violet tears. She sinks down beside him to cradle his head and stroke his hair. It’s the best feeling in the universe, having a moirail so caring that she doesn’t even need to know what’s wrong before sliding up to coddle him. “What happened?”

          Eridan doesn’t respond for a long time- he can’t respond, because what if Feferi gets so disgusted that she leaves him to cry by himself and then he’ll be completely alone with no moirail or best friend, and their plan to awkwardly ‘rail-pail will fall through and he’ll be culled because he’s a wretched person and a slimeball and even if people say otherwise, genetic slurry doesn’t lie and it’ll all turn black as a laughable demonstration of how Eridan Ampora is completely unlovable.

          Oh god, what if his and Feferi’s bucket turns black? He knows it, damn it, he knows that she’s way too good for him, he knows that she’s sweet and dorky and a wee bit of a prankster driven by her urges to help others, but what if their moirallegiance is just that- that Fef feels bad for him for fucking up every single thing he ever does in relation to others, and deep down she hates him but she’s too nice to leave him? Or worse, what if she’s only with him because she’s scared of what would happen if he stops feeding Gl’bgolyb?

 

          Reservations leave Eridan once Feferi starts nuzzling his hair, scratching at the back of his neck softly and pressing little kisses to his forehead, and Eridan starts to feel even worse, because he needs to give Feferi more credit- needs to talk to her and tell her what’s going on so she can help and feel happy and fulfilled, and because he’s not a burden, he’s a moirail and his problems are her problems and vice versa and he would be fucking her over something fierce if he doesn’t let them work on it.

          “I’m the worst,” is the first thing that Eridan chokes out, with flatness to his voice that makes Feferi hold him closer. He says those words often, full of melodrama and a showy accent, but he’s never sounded so much like he believed them before. “I made him hate me, Fef.”

          “Sollux?” Feferi says the word so carefully, as if she’s speaking of a horrorterrors that will come to puke acid over the both of them if they hear. Eridan nods and buries his head into her chest even deeper, deep enough that he can hardly breathe and his tears are immediately absorbed by her tank top. He’ll have painful dents in his face from her necklaces when he pulls back. “But didn’t you apologize? Maybe he just needs time.”

          “I _made_ him hate me,” Eridan gasps. His crying escalates into shrill sobs, where he’s near unintelligible, taking in chokes of air that get him light-headed. His body slumps against Feferi’s, feeling so weak that he can’t support himself. “The bucket—the black one—I had nobody—he has nobody-- so I—“

          Though she tries not to, Feferi loosens her grip a bit. “Oh, Eridan…” she whispers, shaking her head slightly _but she doesn’t let go_ , she keeps cradling his head and squeezing her eyes shut in disappointment until Eridan is almost passed out from sobbing.

          “He doesn’t know they came early this sweep. Did you tell him?” Feferi says, and Eridan shakes his head, face burning with shame.

          Feferi moves to cradle her moirail’s face between her palms and press their noses together. “You’ve got to tell him. He’ll understand.”

          “He won’t understand, Fef. I broke into his hive an’ made fun a’ him an’ _he trusted me_ not to.”

          “Tell him that! It’s better than nothing.” She slides Eridan’s phone into his palm. He types out a series of messages, then hands it to Feferi for a once over before sending it.

caligulasAquarium [CA] messaged twinArmageddons [TA]

CA: i dont expect you to evver forgivve me as i wwas mighty deplorable    
CA: i am mighty deplorable   
CA: i got my imperial pails today an i kneww that neither of us wwould be able to get a proper hate thing goin by the deadline   
CA: thats wwhy i wwas insultin you i wwould NEVVER do that otherwwise i care about you so much i dont think any a the things i said   
CA: an i am so fuckin sorry for takin advvantage a you   
CA: i wwas such a beardscum but if you hadnt nodded wwhen i asked i wwouldvve stopped in an instant i think you should knoww that   
CA: i fucked up so badly at the diner there i got drunk an said awwful things an i hurt you an that is THE wworst thing EVVER    
CA: just tell me wwhat i need to do to make it better   
TA: ehehe WHATEVER, ii don't really care.    
TA: at lea2t you were a biit better at paiiliing than ii thought you would be, 2o thank2 for that ii gue22, ii haven't gotten my rock2 off liike that iin a whiile eheheheh.   
CA: wwhat   
CA: wwhat are you evven SAYIN???   
TA: look, ii don't want you a2 a friiend, a mate2priit OR a kii2me2ii2.   
TA: you want two make iit better, you can 2tart by giiviing me my fuckiing key2 back and never talkiing two me agaiin.    
CA: i lovve you   
TA: congratulatiion2.    
CA: any quadrant or no quadrant wwhatevver you wwant just please dont leavve   
CA: i wwas scared a that FUCKIN spade on the fuckin bucket   
CA: for me an for you an i thought it wwould be doin both of us a favvour but i wwas completely fuckin wwrong an im sorry   
CA: it makes my blood pusher hurt just thinkin about howw awwful i wwas to you an i shouldnt a done it    
CA: i just   
CA: i need you i cant livve wwithout you i lovve you   
CA: i dont care if you wwant me to crawwl to your hivve on my knees wwearin a potato sack I WWILL   
TA: ii'm not goiing two wa2te my tiime on 2omebody who thiink2 that ii'm garbage juiice and won't even TOUCH ME DURIING PAIILIING.   
TA: whiich ii2 BE2IIDE THE POIINT but you know what, ii fuckiing notiiced that you were too 2queamii2h two get any of my na2ty yellow GM on your preciiou2 royal bulge.    
CA: no not true   
TA: eheheh you thiink ii diidn't NOTIICE that you wouldn't even u2e me you priick.   
CA: THATS NOT THE FUCKIN REASON okay an im goin to tell you this because i trust you i havve problems wwith my you knoww wwhat an the nervous system is fuckin SHIT on one side its dowwnright humiliatin but it takes me a long ass time to    
CA: you knoww   
TA: EHEHEHE oh GOD.   
TA: 2o you triied two get me two hate you enough two fiill a black bucket wiith you becau2e ii dont have a kii2me2ii2, the drone2 came early thii2 2weep and becau2e you tru2t me enough two not make fun of your erectiile problem2?   
CA: YES EXACTLY   
TA: ehehehe what a hiilariiou2 mii2under2tandiing let'2 go for lunch two laugh iit off.   
CA: really?   
TA: no.   
TA: fuck you.

Eridan can hardly read the last two lines of yellow text through his tear filled eyes. He drops the phone to the ground and clings onto Feferi even tighter, holding her like she’s his only lifeline.

 

         

          It’s easy for Sollux to distract himself at work, encircling his mind with codes and becoming so absorbed in the mental challenges that he forgets that his shoulders have a dozen bite marks and his face is still covered in shrinking scabs. Equius sends Aurthour to bring him a glass of milk every day, which Sollux was reluctant to drink at first, but the lusus nudged it in his direction until he complied. He asks Equius about it the second day that the lusus shoves the glass in his face, but Equius only replies with, “What milk?” and a shower of sweat.

          It isn’t until he goes home that the loneliness starts to set in and he starts to realize that he talked to Eridan a lot- about dumb, trivial stuff and video games and all the things that pissed him off during the night. He doesn’t want to talk to Feferi, as much as it hurts him because she’s his friend, but he likes talking to her for a different reason, and she’s not the kind of person that will gladly bitch alongside Sollux about all the assholes that he encountered.

          So, instead of sending off dumb messages to Eridan, he copies and pastes them into Karkat’s old trollian before sending them. He catches sight of his last conversations with the both of them, and in Karkat’s message window, he has to send off lines of blank text to stop the grey words from blinding him and rupturing his chest.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA] [ARCHIVED MESSAGE]   
  
CG: HEY MAN.   
CG: I KNOW YOU'RE NURSING A BULGE BUSTING MIGRAINE OVER THERE.   
CG: YOU HEAR ME, DON'T YOU?   
TA: yeah.   
CG: YEAH, HUGE FUCKING SURPRISE, THE MUTANT GETS CULLED.   
TA: you don't de2erve iit KK.   
CG: IT'S ALRIGHT. SCARY, BUT ALRIGHT.   
TA: oh god don't talk liike that.   
CG: BEFORE I'M DEAD AND GONE, I WANT TO TELL YOU THAT YOU'RE FUCKING AWESOME AND BRILLIANT AND HILARIOUS AND ANY FUCKER WOULD HAVE TO HAVE ALL THE LUCK IN THE WHOLE GODDAMN WORLD TO GET THE TIME OF DAY FROM YOU.   
TA: eheheh how 2weet.   
CG: NO, I MEAN IT. I ALWAYS YELL AT YOU WHEN YOU GET DOWN ON YOURSELF BECAUSE IT'S SO FUCKING IRRITATING BUT IT'S IRRITATING *BECAUSE* YOU'RE AMAZING AND YOU DON'T FUCKING REALIZE IT.   
CG: DUDE, YOU'VE BEEN MY BRO SINCE WE WERE WIGGLING FLESH LUMPS. I'M GOING TO MISS YOU SO FUCKING MUCH.   
TA: ii don't know what the fuck ii'm goiing two do wiithout you.   
CG: YOU'RE GOING TO DO FINE.    
TA: get over here and giive me a hug, a22hole.   
  
[CLICK HERE TO DELETE LOG]

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA] [ARCHIVED MESSAGE]   
  
CA: hey   
TA: hey.   
CA: are you busy right noww   
TA: not really, ju2t tryiing two clean off my de2k.   
CA: haha wwhat a joke like youvve evver attempted to clean that blast zone before   
TA: ii miight not make iit.   
TA: iif ii don't re2pond after ten miinute2, ii've been 2educed by the lo2t 2oul2 lurkiing beneath the horde2 of 2hiit on my de2k.   
CA: wwhat are they gonna do to your soul    
CA: eat it   
TA: eheheh eat iit ED, they're goiing two CON2UME IIT.   
TA: ii'm goiing two be 2ent away two a dark world full of paperwork.   
TA: ju2t neverendiing 2tack2 of paperwork.   
CA: AUGH NO   
CA: hath a troll seen a hell more horrible   
CA: i bet he hathnt   
TA: wa2 that a 2hot at me AND a pun?   
CA: GLUB GLUB SHRUG   
TA: you 2tole that from FF diidn't you?   
CA: your honour the prosecution has no evvidence to support this outlandish clam   
CA: did you wwant me to stop by the wway   
CA: wwith the glubs   
CA: vvris alwways got annoyed wwhen i wwould but theyre basically a knee jerk kinda phenomenon like your funny little ehehehes   
CA: i mean shes a haggard landwwitch but she said they sound stupid to you land dwwellin types do they   
TA: well ii mean they 2ound completely 2tupiid, but al2o fuckiing adorable.   
CA: oh   
CA: if wwere doin confessions here im sad that youre losin your lisp i alwways liked it   
CA: not just for makin fun a you either i think its a bit charmin   
TA: get me my iin2uliin, my blood 2ugar ii2 at maxiimum 2aturatiion.   
CA: hey NOT FAIR you fuckin started it   
TA: <3

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

[CLICK HERE TO DELETE LOG]

He almost gets finished staring off into space with a hollow feeling inside of him when Vriska starts trolling him, for the first time in ages. They very seldom talk- he never wanted anything to do with her, and he still doesn’t, because she’s fucking psychotic and sociopathic and she killed Aradia and Sollux is still kind of sore about that, because Aradia is still kind of dead.

arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

AG: Soooooooo, how are you enjoying my sloppy seconds? >:::;)   
TA: what.   
AG: Rumor has it that you and fish8reath are getting a weeeeeeee 8it e8ony these days!   
TA: are you fuckiing 2eriiou2 who the fuck ii2 even telliing you the2e thiing2.   
AG: Who knows? I've got a lot of........   
TA: don't.   
AG: ........   
AG: Irons in the fire!!!!!!!!   
AG: And I guess he got his iron in your fire hahahahahahahaha!   
TA: 2eriiou2ly, who the FUCK told you thii2 becau2e ii wiill 2wallow miind honey and go iinciinerate them.   
TA: maybe you could help me out OH WAIIT.   
AG: Siiiiiiiigh. Why can't you just accept that I know aaaaaaaall the things?   
AG: So did he manage to get off in under two hours for once?    
TA: okay fiir2t off you have no iidea iif we paiiled or not, 2econd iit'2 none of your fuckiing bu2iiness what quadrant, iif any, we are or have been iin, and thiird, that ii2 pretty fuckiing low even for you.   
AG: Speak for yourself! EeeeeeeeDeeeeeeee.   
TA: okay ii can't beliieve ii'm even 2tiickiing up for hiim becau2e he'2 a ma22iive anal wiipe but PI22 OFF.   
TA: iit ii2 NOT a2 biig a deal a2 you're makiing iit out two be.   
AG: Awwwwwwww! <33333333   
TA: you know what fuck iit, ii don't know why ii even bothered re2pondiing two you iin the fiir2t place.

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling arachnidsGrip [AG}

 

* * *

 

opulentAgent [OA] opened the memo [welcome 2 the aristocracy!]   
opulentAgent [OA] added aspartameNovenary [AN], cherryExecutrix [CE], ominousCoupdegrace [OC], ectopicNecrosis [EN], couthieNavigator [CN], antionettesEulogy [AE], caligulasAquarium [CA], and cuttlefishCuller [CC] to the memo.

OA: DON'T SAY N E THING.   
OA: LET ME TALK 1ST.   
AN: naw u shut yo trap    
OA: o m f g   
OA: 1st, wyvill i need u 2 change the names so it's easier 2 figure us out when we meet in person.   
EN: o.Kay.   
CERATI[OA]: i'd like u all 2 meet eridan and feferi! they just came of age so they'll b comin 2 our meetin 2morrow.   
FEFERI[CC]: )(-ELLO! 38D   
ERIDAN[CA]: hey   
ABBOTT[AN]: wuz with dat fuckin face dat ur bra size LOL   
ERIDAN[CA]: EXCUSE me you fuckin finfaced bastard wwhere do you get off talkin to my fuckin moirail that wway   
AMPHRI[OC]: []this is well embarassin []PLEASE[] just ignore abbott hes nothin but a wretched scallywag[]   
ABBOTT[AN]: wat u shit say dat to my face not online fucker well c wot happens   
ABBOTT[AN]: yo ive culled worse baddies den u in my fuckin SLEEP    
ABBOTT[AN]: ye uh suck on dat amph

[OA] banned [AN] from responding to the memo

CERATI[OA]: ok movin on.   
CERATI[OA]: whose next 2 embarrass themselves?   
NIELTA[CE]: you want me to introduece myself to the new people? :)   
CALIAT[CN]: *Introduce.   
NIELTA[CE]: UGH can you not do that?? hiiii eridan and feferi! :D   
FEFERI[CC]: )(I!    
ERIDAN[CA]: uh are these meetins mandatory   
AMPHRI[OC]: []if ye got the bearins to survive em[]   
ERIDAN[CA]: are you insinuatin wwhat i think youre insinuatin   
AMPHRI[OC]: []lad im a troll thats seen many a sqabble set sail across the seven seas[]   
CALIAT[CN]: *Squabble   
CALIAT[CN]: You do realize that you're younger than most of us, do you not?   
AMPHRI[OC]: []aye[]   
AMPHRI[OC]: []i need some gin[]

[OA] banned [OC] from responding to the memo

CERATI[OA]: wyvill quick make an idiot of urself so i can close this memo.   
WYVILL[EN]: what? DO you want me? To say?   
WYVILL[EN]: can We Trust Them! are they? REALLY seadwelldkfjdalsd??   
CERATI[OA]: perf now go take ur medicine.

[OA] banned [EN] from responding to the memo

CERATI[OA]: i'm honestly really sorry guys this is turnin out xactly as i xpected.   
CALIAT[CN]: *Exactly *Expected   
CERATI[OA]: that wasn't a fuckin typo omg that's how i TYPE.   
CALIAT[CN]: Oh gosh, I'm sorry! Your usual typing is so horrific that I get confused.   
ERIDAN[CA]: wwait i cant keep track a wwho ivve seen wwhat wwith all a this vviolet   
CALIAT[CN]: *Wait *Who *I've *What *With *Violet   
FEFERI[CC]: 38\    
ERIDAN[CA]: wwhat   
CALIAT[CN]: Sorry! I guess I just expected an aristocrat to have better spelling habits.   
CERATI[OA]: ugh fuckin bitch.

[OA] banned [CN] from responding to the memo

CERATI[OA]: ok who's left.   
NIELTA[CE]: i'm still here! ;)   
CERATI[OA]: no.

[OA] banned [CE] from responding to the memo

EVARNE[AE]: Is it just me left?   
CERATI[OA]: yea.   
EVARNE[AE]: Damn, can't ima9ine a conversation 9oin9 worse than that one.   
EVARNE[AE]: Hi Eridan, hi Feferi.   
ERIDAN[CA]: hey   
FEFERI[CC]: )(i!   
EVARNE[AE]: We're supposed to a9ree on which planet to station our new trainin9 camp on tomorrow.    
CERATI[OA]: the key word is 'supposed 2'.   
ERIDAN[CA]: no offense but wwhy dont any a you saltlickers do your fuckin jobs   
EVARNE[AE]: I like your attitude, newb.

[AE] banned themself from responding to the memo

[OA] closed the memo

 

          The building where the meeting is being held at is one that is visible from all over the city; it’s the behemoth of a half-submerged castle right on the water that apparently houses all the sea dwellers. Construction drones work all day and all night on new wings for Eridan and Feferi, both already shaping up to be twice the size of a standalone mansion. From the looks of it, the drones listened to Eridan and are building almost all of it above water level, with just enough submerged space to avoid suspicions.

          “You don’t think it’s gonna be underwater, do you?” Eridan whispers as quietly as possible to Feferi, who shrugs and shakes her head.

          The drawbridge lowers as soon as the two approach, and a short, chubby troll with a huge thick braid starts waving madly from the other side.

          “Ohmygosh _hi_ guys!” she calls. Feferi smiles and runs up to her, eager as always to meet friendly trolls despite numerous warnings from Eridan that they aren’t friendly- they’ll pretend to be to earn your trust, then cut you down at the first opportunity. On Alternia you only trust your moirail and your lusus.

          The other troll speaks with an airy voice that can only be caused by letting out the hot air comprising her cranium. “We were soo excited for you guys to come!”

          Feferi beams, no doubt thrilled to speak with a troll with half as much enthusiasm as herself. “We were excited to come!”

          “Come on Eeeeridan!” she calls when she sees Eridan lagging behind. The way she draws out every sound reminds him of Vriska, but a hundred times dumber. “We’re all in the library.”

 

          Before they reach the doors to the library, they hear yelling, and the other troll- Nielta, they discover her name to be- rolls her eyes and pushes them open. Inside, two trolls, one dressed in the most outlandish mockery of stereotypical pirates and the other in a horrible sideways hat and huge gaudy bling are at each other’s throats, being held back by a tall, buff girl in cargo pants and the one sea dweller that Eridan and Feferi recognize as Cerati from days ago.

          The only troll that’s seated is a girl with perfect princess ringlets sipping a cup of tea as if nothing is going on. Off to the side, beside a bookshelf, a boy with a body just like Sollux is huddled with bugged out eyes darting around the room.

          “Yo, I told you I ain’t gettin’ no rock powered ship! My baby needs a proper stack o’ helmsmen to fly, capiche?”

          “Yer sailin’ to a cloud an’ back, yeh shithead!”

          “Dis bad motha fucka needs sick fuel for his swagmobile!”

          The girl in cargo pants yanks the fake gangster back far enough that he tumbles into his chair. “Shut your fucking mouth- _swagmobile_ \- you are a disgrace to this whole caste, you wreck. No wonder you’ve never even filled a quadrant, pansy ass insufferable _fuck.”_

“Ey, who’s sayin’ I want some stupid ho?”

          Cargo pants girl grabs his shirt. “You haven’t dealt with your buckets yet, have you?” She turns to the rest of the sea dwellers, who have all settled down in their chairs in the time it took for the argument to shift players. “Who here has not dealt with them yet, aside from the obvious case of Abbott?”

          Eridan and Feferi look at each other and giggle nervously, trying to force the memory of getting naked on Feferi’s couch out of their minds. It was horribly forced and awkward, but they both needed somebody and Feferi is patient and understanding like nobody that Eridan’s ever known before. She’s the only one that Eridan trusts to empathize with his condition aside from Sollux- though hope of that is long gone now.

          In a stroke of luck, Feferi had been solicited for a black fling by a pissed off customer at a coffee shop, which made Eridan burn with jealousy for hours and hours because how the hell can Feferi get a caliginous fling as soon as she leaves the house when it took Eridan almost half a sweep of his most nefarious schemes to anchor Vriska into the black quadrant sweeps ago?

          “I knew it,” Cerati says, standing up to move over to the easel holding up blank sheets of paper. “I knew this would turn into quadrant talk! Can we _please_ get somethin’ done for once, because I am _not_ about to report to Condy and tell her that we did nothin’ **again**. Caliat, get me the list.”

          The girl with princess curls- Caliat, stares dumbfounded. “What list?”

          A long silence permeates the air, swirling and heaving down on every particle. Cerati starts filing the edges of his claws on the table. “You forgot the list?”

          Caliat shrugs. “I was not made aware of any ‘list’.” Her airquotes show off perfectly manicured nails, filed down to squared off tips. Eridan’s face gets hot with annoyance at the sight- trimmed down claws are possibly the most unattractive thing a troll could do to themselves, barring fin-removal, as if any sea dweller would ever dare do something so bold. It’s common knowledge that anything that makes yourself look less imposing dually serves to make yourself less attractive to all potential mates.

          Cerati’s teeth gnash together and his fists clench. “Okay, that’s it!” He picks up the easel and hurls it across the room, where it knocks over a bookshelf and sends hundreds of papers flying across the ground. “Meetin’ over, go back home and gossip over your empty buckets, you useless pieces of shit.”        

          Feferi stands up before anybody can object. “Wait! I’d like to mention my internal affairs,” she says, using that voice that she uses to try to sound official. Eridan’s heart starts racing. “I want to get rid of caste restrictions on restaurants.”

          An outraged buzz starts to build in the library, despite the small number of trolls. The lanky, shifty troll starts having an absolute fit, scratching at his arms violently and chewing his lip until Caliat goes over to yank his arms off of each other. “Calm down,” she snaps, and turns to Feferi. “Look at what you did.”

          As Feferi’s brows furrow, Cerati rolls his eyes and explains just what Feferi did. “Wyvill is afraid of lowbloods,” he says with contempt dripping from his voice. “So he refuses to find himself a proper moirail, and thus, is completely fucked in the pan.”

          Feferi presses her lips together. “I’m not changing my mind. If l-lowbloods want to save their money and splurge on a nice evening out, they should be allowed to!” She stammers out the word ‘lowbloods’.

          “Well, good luck finding anybody who’ll put your plan into motion, princess,” cargo pants girl says. “Fuchsia or not, I doubt you’ll find a single business owner willing to go along with that.”

          Abbott gets up to grab a book and bang it against his chair in a makeshift gavel. “A-ight, Peixes girl be bunked, meetin’ adjourned.”

          The other trolls seem impartial, shrugging and standing up to leave, except for cargo pants, who makes a beeline for Eridan and Feferi. “Hey, I gotta give you the scoop,” she says, before offering her name as Evarne.

          “’Rati’s gonna be takin’ you on a short naval trip once the dark season kicks in. Just training and such, but you’ve both gotta go since there’s no wireless connections.”

          “How short?” Feferi asks, sounding deflated and lifeless.

          Evarne shrugs. “It’s really just for basic training and such. Probably… two perigrees?”

          Eridan’s eyebrow lifts. “A whole two perigrees? That’s not somethin’ we can just up an’ do.”

          “-my lusus,” Feferi adds, like they’re the kind of insufferable trolls that finish each other’s sentences. “Glb’golyb, she needs me to be close by and Eridan to feed her.”

          “Nothing I can do about it,” Evarne says. “The trip isn’t really for you, Feferi; you’re gonna be on-planet indefinitely unless you want to get on a ship, so you don’t _have_ to go. Just use these few weeks to figure out if your lusus or your moirail needs you more.”

         

         

          Sollux comes home to a bouquet of flowers in front of his door- milky white baby’s breath and a dozen red roses with the thorns plucked off, wrapped in deep black paper with gold ribbons encircling the stems. Tucked into the sweet-smelling blossoms is a card with cartoon bees that reads, “I’m sorry I stung you, can we still bee friends?” Inside the card is a $258.36 gift card to Electronoshop. Sollux knows where the number comes from- it’s the price on the speaker system that he’s been saving for, of which he had mentioned to Eridan, what, twice? He pockets the card, fully intending to sell it off for cash to spare himself arrearage to Eridan every time he turns his computer on.

He has to squish down the five other bouquets in his kitchen garbage to fit the newest addition, cursing. Eridan had neglected to give him flowers only once in the six nights that have passed, coincidently being the only day that Sollux was freed from the series of dreams that have been clinging onto his psyche.

They’re all brief snippets that are only a few images, but they’re clear and vivid and stick in his mind like a potent painting. The first had been vexing at worst, a brief picture of Eridan idly playing with a computer cord, wrapping it around his fingers and unwinding it. Sensible as far as dreams go- Sollux is not going to deny that Eridan is on his mind a gross amount, though he will swear that all of his thoughts are bitter and angry, but there was something else, something about how the cord slid between his fingers that made the dream stick in Sollux’s mind.

He figures it out when he has his next dream. It’s almost identical, the way Eridan leans back, bored in his chair, an idle, nonchalant expression on his face, but instead of wrapping a cord around his fingers, he’s licking off the violet genetic material that they’re dripping with. Sollux wakes up swearing, heart pounding, with chills running up and down his spine. That dream… was less sensible, he figures, but he knows damn well that in light of their situation, he ought to expect a little bit of influence.

The third dream wakes him up shivering. It starts with the two of them together, naked and close and flushed by both meanings of the word. Their kisses are open and full, like doors that open and shut their chests to pulse love and life into each other to be shared, and, for the moment it takes to dream, it’s beautiful and perfect. Their hands are on each other like it’s where they belong, like they’re home, and all around them is a thick fog of nostalgia and wistfulness. The both of them are ready and wet, and Eridan drags two fingers across the slit of Sollux’s nook, until there’s a few drops of genetic material on them, and reaches his hand up to push them past Sollux’s lips.

He’s tasted genetic material in reality before- it’s bland, maybe a bit coppery, but in his dream it’s repugnant and foul and it makes him start gagging- it tastes like sopping wet, rotten meat that’s been pissed all over. He wakes up feeling cold and ashamed and _dirty_ , even though it’s just a dream, he still presses a finger to his nook and sucks it clean to assure himself that he’s okay, that there’s nothing wrong with him, that it’s just a dream, just a weird fucking dream.

Sollux gets what his subconscious is trying to tell him after the fourth dream, and it makes him wake up furious and frustrated at nobody in particular- at indoctrination, maybe, or the system, and he feels better moving some of the blame on chucklevoodoos. Sollux is on his knees under a table at a diner where Eridan is seated- and of course it has to be fucking Eridan _again_ \- somehow discreetly pantless because it’s a dream, and because he has to be for dream-Sollux to have his face buried between his legs, hands clutching at Eridan’s thighs to give himself the leverage to cram his tongue inside Eridan’s nook, where he’s lapping up every bit of moisture with greedy fervour, nuzzling his face in to where he can’t breathe and the very tip of his tongue reaches a millimeter further to get more of that sweet tasting genetic fluid in his mouth. In his dream, Eridan’s tastes absolutely delicious, like that mint chocolate chip shake, and Sollux is dying for more but he’s already licked Eridan clean inside so he moves to his bulge, taking the whole length in his mouth and moaning like a whore when the sweetness fills his mouth.

He practically yanks his bulges out of his nook when he wakes up, because he doesn’t care how much his dreams turn him on, he has a few scattered shreds of pride that he can put together and he is _not_ going to jerk off thinking about being on his knees drinking up the milkshake-flavoured fluids coming out of Eridan.

So he proceeds to take the coldest shower of his entire life, in part due to his pride, and in part due to the drones being expected any day now. If he rubs out his genetic material and they come that day, he’s completely fucked, even considering that he only needs to fill one.

The drones don’t drop off his pail until the day before they’re due, only leaving him with a heart bucket. Sollux spends a good deal of time giving it a thousand-yard stare before it hits him that he has to fill the fucking thing before the sun rises or else he will literally be culled. He has to fuck or die- they all have to fuck or die, what the hell kind of a civilization comes up with that?

 

apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

AA: g0 0utside y0ur hivestem    
TA: ehehehe ii 2wear two god iif you hiired me a paiil2titute you and ii are done a2 friiend2.   
AA: i didnt hire y0u a pailstitute   
AA: i just f0und s0meb0dy wh0 seems nice and needs a hand   
AA: i w0uld help y0u 0ut if i c0uld but im n0t in the imperial rec0rds   
TA: how bold of you two 2ay.   
AA: if i were alive y0u w0uld want me t0 help y0u 0ut   
TA: double bold.   
TA: 2X bold combo.   
AA: i miss the way y0u treated me when i was alive    
AA: but i guess it d0esnt matter   
AA: ive just been thinking t00 much lately   
TA: ii mii22 the way you were when you were aliive.   
TA: ii don't mean two have a heart two heart when ii'm about two go paiil 2ome 2tranger, but you were one of my be2t friiend2.    
AA: thats n0t true    
AA: i was special   
AA: 0h    
AA: that s0unds selfish   
AA: s0rry   
TA: eheh you were 2peciial, ii gue22. you 2tiill are <>.   
AA: am i    
AA: are we m0irails   
AA: im s0rry im n0t there f0r y0u m0re 0ften   
AA: <>   
AA: y0u g0 s0llux!   
AA: g0 fill that bucket!   
AA: that felt weird and wr0ng   
TA: well, thank2 for tryiing ii gue22.   
TA: don't force your2elf two be liike you were when you were aliive.    
AA: 0kay    
AA: in that case   
AA: g00d luck    
AA: i h0pe it isnt t00 awkward   
AA: but it will be   
TA: please AA, ii'm a fuckiing 2tud, remember.   
AA: 0_0   
TA: that wa2 a joke.   
TA: thank2 for 2ettiing thii2 up.   
AA: y0ure welc0me

apocalypseArisen [AA] ceased trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

 

The bucket gets filled in due time and expected awkwardness. The burgundy that Aradia had found is slow and tender with Sollux, using her delicate hands to guide him through the whole process like she knows that he’s not much of a guru when it comes to sex. She tells him to think of somebody that he loves if it helps, so he does, but it doesn’t help, it just makes him feel empty and alone and not at all flushed.

His partner seems to be able to tell this- maybe she’s telepathic in that she can read people, or maybe she’s just intuitive, but she wrestles part of the story from Sollux’s throat and hears about how his friend that he’s red for is a fucking prick and now they aren’t friends but Sollux is still caught up on him. The burgundy nods and leaves for a moment, coming back with a bouquet of flowers from his trash and handing them to him.

“We’re starcrossed lovers,” she says, twinkling her fingers to entice his imagination. Sollux goes along with it- he’s used to roleplay, and he really needs something to get the red feelings flowing. “You’re leaving on a naval trip tomorrow when the sun goes down. Will you ever return? It’s doubtful.” Her hands roll over his skin, massaging his shoulders lightly. Even with the lights off, it’s hard for Sollux to slip into a realm of fantasy, but damn if he doesn’t try. He starts placing hesitant kisses down her neck; she opens up and leans into them. “Lover, oh lover, will we ever meet again?” she whispers. Sollux stays silent, largely at a loss for words. She sounds rehearsed- she must have a passion for stage plays and films. “Hush, lover, matesprit of mine.” She presses a finger to his lips. “And we will claim this day as ours.”

They tangle together beneath the blankets on the couch, with the burgundy girl doing most of the work trying to loosen Sollux up, which he eventually starts to by imagining action film heroes and playing that part. It must be painfully awkward, but his partner is so easy and open, playing the lovesick damsel so well that Sollux starts to slip into their stagy act, and pretty soon, they’re moving together in the dark, convinced that Sollux is shipping out in the morning and this is their last day as matesprits.

He never gets her name, which is probably for best, but he offers her a can of coke when they’re getting cleaned up. He doesn’t offer her the shower, because his unit doesn’t pay for water and he’s been dirt poor since moving to the big city where everything is a bit more expensive than the one where he used to live. She seems to understand- of course she does, she’s a rustblood, but that fact makes him feel guilty about not offering her more, because he’s a full two castes higher than her, and if he thinks that he’s dirt poor, how the fuck does she live? And he knows the answer to that- Aradia had lived on a farm and she was a kid who died before having to slog through all the status bullshit, but Sollux has seen rustbloods bitching on forums before.

“I live in a hivestem about this size,” the girl tells him, laughing. “But I have two blockmates. We usually run a bath and take turns.” She smiles and shakes her head. “You don’t have to give me that look.”

Sollux’s lungs collapse in on themselves when he realizes that the damn pity look that he loathes seeing on Eridan and Feferi has found a new home on his own face. “Trying not to,” he says. “Not to be a dick, but it’s nice knowing that a bunch of people have it worse.”

She shrugs and laughs before turning to leave, taking the covered pail with her. “You’re honest,” she says. “You’re gonna run yourself into a lot of trouble if you’re not careful.”


	8. Uncomfortably Long Hugs and Missing Grey Dots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember all those terrible sea dweller characters? [I drew them all.](http://cullionly.tumblr.com/post/43366296341/they-arent-fantrolls-judging-you-this-is%20) Also this is as good a time as any to pimp my tumblr, because I occasionally do art for fic if you want to check it out!

A collective sigh resounds from the planet once the drones file out to deliver the slurries to the mother grub and a small bout of rain washes away the blood of all the suckers that failed to deliver. Ships start to mobilize in lieu of their newfound freedom, with no drones to worry about for the sweep, there’s no need for paperwork declaring that sailors will make up for the collections that they missed. Gloomy faces pepper the city, broken hearts and spades from couples that were holding out their inevitable breakups for the drones.

The Dim Season slips quietly away, making way for the long, tiring nights that leave trolls aching for more time in the recuperacoon. 36 hours is a long time to be awake all at once, and work hours are adjusted accordingly to comprise of two 8-hour shifts and a 6-hour instead of the single 8-hour that trolls get during the Dim Seasons. It comes with some benefits, though- more free time and no having to wake up before the sun goes down.

Eridan does not stop delivering flowers to Sollux’s door. Sollux doesn’t expect him to- he’s nothing if not unrelenting, so eventually Sollux gets it in him to ignore them entirely, collecting a mass of wilting roses in front of his door that he hopes will upset Eridan when he comes to deliver the next bout, if he actually delivers them himself, which is doubtful.

But when the scabs on Sollux’s face start to fade to flat banana coloured lines, the pendulum that he calls his mental state does a violent swing from anger to depression. On the first night of the perigree, the holiday Equinox that Sollux calls ’36 hours of straight gaming’, he starts to feel miserable and lonely and reads all the cards. Most are short little messages, but amongst them are handwritten letters.

Hey,

I miss you a hell of a lot. It’s been almost perigree an a half since wwe talked last.

I get it, I really fucked up an I’m a shithead but I swwear to you that I’m the most loyal shithead you’ll ever havve the pleasure a dealin wwith an I’m not gonna give up on you because you’re wworth a wwhole fuckin lot more than all this shit I’m givvin you.

 ~ED

Hey,

Remember wwhen I got my first headshot on ADH an you wwere so proud that you ordered a pizza to delivver to my hivve? You evven got anchovvie just for me, fuckin delicious fuckin anchovvie pizza.

Anywway, that’s when I realized that you wwere my best friend, an I wwas majorly fuckin tired that night but I stayed up playin online wwith you because there’s nothin quite like playin ADH wwith Sollux fuckin Captor.

~ED

* * *

 

The next day, the inevitable happens, and Sollux breaks out of his coding trance to the sound of Eridan and Equius conversing downstairs and starts having a massive argument with himself as he flip flops from figuring that he might as well start talking to Eridan because the remains of the shriveled raisin that is Sollux Captor’s heart is pathetic and lonely and in love, and figuring that no, Eridan is a douche and a snob and not worth Sollux’s time.

He knows that as soon as he sees Eridan and his stupid dorky cape and perfectly gelled hair, he’ll be reminded of the way his top lip peaks to form a deep cupid’s bow, and how the cuffs of his sleeves are stretched out because he tugs at them when he gets cold, which is all the time- and if that happens, all the leftover fragments of dislike will step aside and he’ll be a smitten two-sweep-old again.

So he grabs his husktop and makes a break for the hygiene block. Once he’s firmly seated  on the lidded load gaper, he starts firing off messages to Karkat’s empty account that are directed at himself, a very bad habit that he’s started to acquire over the perigree, but he swears that it helps him with his bipolar problems.

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]   
  
TA: ii haven't the 2liighte2t clue of what two do, FUCK.   
TA: ii don't want two be liike ooh never fuckiing miind, let'2 be friiend2 agaiin, aiint no thiing chiicken wiing.   
TA: well ii mean ii kiind of do.   
TA: but he'2 a 2hiithead and 2tupiid and horriible iin every way.   
TA: oh god am ii beiing a diiva over thii2.   
TA: no fuck that ii am perfectly ju2tiifiied ii have every riight to avoiid hiim.   
TA: every 2iingle fuckiing riight.   
TA: all of the riight2.   
TA: ii gue22 that'2 actually really iimmature and ii'm beiing a wiiggler over thii2.   
TA: but ii do have 2mall quantiitiie2 of 2elf-re2pect.   
TA: ehehe who am ii kiiddiing ii have no 2elf-re2pect what2oever, ii'm a pathetiic bag of pii22.   
TA: ii mii22 FF a 2hiitload but ii can't talk two her eiither, ii ju2t get lectured.   
TA: fuck fuck NO thii2 ii2 2uch hoofbea2t2hiit.   
TA: ii am a perfectly fiine 2elf 2u2taiiniing organii2m who ha2 NO need to 2urround hiim2elf wiith a22hole2.   
CG: DON'T GIVE YOURSELF AN ANEURYSM. 

Sollux jumps back from the husktop like it’s on fire.

TA: whoa what the FUCK??   
CG: SURPRISE.   
TA: kk you're aliive??!!   
CG: NOPE.   
CG: JUST MAKING A FRIENDLY TRIP FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE TO CALM YOUR ASS DOWN. I'M LIKE YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL, BUT I'M ACTUALLY A DEAD GHOST ASSHOLE WHO *INTENDED* TO SWOOP IN AND DELIVER REASSURANCES ABOUT MY AFTERLIFE, BUT NOPE! SOLLUX IS HAVING RELATIONSHIP PROBLEMS THAT HIS DEAD FRIEND HAS TO DEAL WITH.   
TA: ii d   
TA: ii2 t   
TA: ii2 thii2 a fuckiing joke or 2omethiing becau2e iit ii2 2o far from beiing funny.   
TA: iit ii2 the 2un, and funny ii2 far up my a22.   
CG: i th0ught y0u w0uld want t0 talk t0 karkat   
CG: i can take him back if y0u want   
CG: I'M NOT READY TO GO BACK YET.    
TA: back where?   
TA: KK? are you 2tiill there??   
CG: SORRY. YEAH, I'M HERE.   
TA: what ii2 2he talkiing about, back where?   
CG: YOU'LL FIND OUT WHEN YOU DIE, WHICH HOPEFULLY WON'T BE FOR A LONG, LONG TIME.   
TA: ii2 iit paiinful beiing dead.   
CG: WHAT? NO. IT'S PRETTY FUCKING AWESOME, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED.    
TA: what doe2 iit feel liike though, KK plea2e tell me ii'll get two 2ee you agaiin.    
CG: YOU'LL SEE ME AGAIN. AND YOU'LL... LOOK, IT'S REALLY HARD TO EXPLAIN. BUT I'M *WITH* TEREZI AND TAVROS. AND I'M...   
TA: are you 2tiill there?   
TA: what are you?   
CG: I'M HAPPY. I'M HONEST TO FUCKING GOD HAPPY. IT JUST FEELS LIKE EVERYTHING IS OKAY FINALLY, AND THE ONLY THING MISSING IS YOU GUYS.   
TA: okay.   
TA: ii'll be there iin a 2ec.    
CG: I SWEAR TO GOD SOLLUX, DON'T YOU DARE!!!!   
CG: DON'T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT, MAN.    
TA: ...2orry.   
TA: iit'2 ju2t been 2o 2hiitty ever 2iince ii came of age, you don't get iit.   
TA: ii'm not goiing two kiill my2elf, ii ju2t   
TA: ii don't know.   
TA: ii feel liike 2hiit.   
CG: WELL   
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. IS THERE A REASON THAT YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT?   
TA: a2iide from the obviiou2 exii2ten2iial faiilure? yeah.   
CG: YOU AREN'T AN EXISTENSIAL FAILURE, SHUT YOUR VOMITING WIND CHUTE.   
CG: FIGURE OUT WHAT'S MAKING YOU FEEL SO SHITTY AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.   
TA: ehehe blood tran2fu2iion?   
CG: WHAT?   
CG: THAT'S WHY YOU FEEL SHITTY? GET OFF YOUR HIGH HOOFBEAST, YELLOW IS *NOT* THAT BAD.   
TA: everythiing ii2 relatiive.   
CG: OH.   
CG: YOU AND ERIDAN ARE DATING NOW?   
TA: uh.   
TA: no.   
TA: can we talk about 2omethiing el2e plea2e.   
CG: THAT'S THE REASON YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT, ISN'T IT?   
TA: ...   
CG: FINE, OKAY, WE DON'T HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO. WE CAN TALK ABOUT STUPID SHIT LIKE WE USED TO, IT'LL BE LIKE I'M NOT EVEN DEAD. HOW ABOUT THAT?   
TA: ii thiink ii'd liike that.   
CG: (:B   
CG: n0   
CG: im s0rry karkat y0u have t0 g0    
CG: im l0sing c0ntact   
TA: no waiit!!!   
TA: aa plea2e don't take hiim away!!   
CG: im n0t taking him away s0llux   
CG: im s0rry but hes already g0ne   
CG: he has been f0r a l0ng time   
CG: I LOVE YOU, MAN.    
CG: AND I'D BETTER NOT SEE YOU FOR A DAMN LONG TIME, OKAY?   
TA: don't aradiia plea2e ju2t hold on for a liittle longer.   
CG: s0rry   
TA: aradiia don't!!!   
CG: <>

carcinoGeneticist's account has been deleted

 

Before Sollux can slam his fists into the wall, Aradia pops up beside him, all long hair and flowing fabric, and pulls him into her arms, where he doesn’t have to see his trollian list lacking a grey dot like Karkat never even existed, whispering nonsense derivatives of ‘shush’ and letting him cry onto her shoulder and blubber about how he’s gone, KK’s gone, his account is gone, he’s never coming back, never, never ever ever, and what the fuck does he do now that they’ve had their last conversation for all his life, he’s never seeing Karkat again _ever,_ and it’s a huge fucking anvil to realize what ‘never again’ means. 

And when he finally gets it all out and leaves the hygiene block after what must have been an hour feeling both a hundred pounds lighter and a hundred pounds heavier, Eridan is gone, but he’s left a cold can of Sprite and one of his violet stoned rings on the desk. It’s a dazzling piece of jewelry, polished gold threads swirling around two embedded diamonds like tiny gold wings and a teardrop shaped gemstone so delicately attached to the band that it looks as if it's a hanging pendant, firey violet exploding with flecks of blue and red, polished to perfection and so bright that it turns into a white starburst in the light. It's a thousand times brighter than anything in the room, glimmering colours grabbing his attention and making his mind go in a trance for a few seconds, forgetting everything except for how the gold sparkles.

Sollux resists the urge to slide it on his finger to see how good ‘rich bastard’ would look on him and pockets the ring, thinking that maybe he’ll sell it and collect a preposterous wad of cash, and cracks open the Sprite, reveling in the whooshing sound that it makes and the drops of condensation on the outside. He takes a few sips while still standing, and doesn’t hear Equius come up behind him until the other troll clears his throat.

Sollux turns around and leans his weight on the desk, sipping his Sprite. Equius isn’t wearing his usual tank- he’s in a ridiculously tight t-shirt and a pair of full work gloves. His hair is tied back and his sunglasses are nowhere to be found, showing off the heavy blue bags under his eyes. “I got the last two programs you needed,” Sollux tells him flatly, reaching over for the completed chips, but Equius gives one nod and says nothing for a moment.

The buzz of fluorescent lights is the only sound before he speaks. “His highness,” Equius starts, sucking in deep breaths. “Told me to give you this.”

And in an instant, Sollux is completely engulfed in a crushing hug. Even with what Sollux realizes must be his de-strengthening shirt and gloves, Equius’ mutant strength has him wheezing for air, but at the same time, it’s nice, it’s exactly what he needs right now, though anybody would have to pry those words from Sollux’s rotting corpse. Equius’ shirt is either very fresh or very absorbent, because he isn’t drenched in sweat like he usually is- he’s almost completely dry, but he smells like he’s been working out- not gag worthy, but noticeably unpleasant.

The hug lasts for far too long, long enough that Sollux has to say, “Okay, that’s enough,” but Equius assures him that Eridan was very specific on the proper hug length and starts rubbing his back, adding that that too was a requirement. He’s sweaty by the time they separate, and the look that they give each other is so awkward that it loops back around to become hilarious, and Equius gives a friendly clap to Sollux’s shoulder before turning around to go back downstairs.

He has no fucking clue what goes on in Equius’ head. He’d never cared much before, but they’re working together and somehow getting along, which has Sollux’s head drawing circles around itself, because it’s Equius, the sweaty hoofbeast enthusiast who gets off on following orders and Sollux had walked into the job expecting to be bossed around to hell and back, but every day when Sollux goes to leave and lets Equius know out of decency, they sometimes end up chatting, Sollux leaning against the doorframe and Equius working with his wrenches and screwdrivers.

“Could you stay an extra hour?” Equius asks when Sollux is leaving after his second shift that night. His face immediately goes deep blue, he slaps a hand over his mouth and he crushes the handle of the screwdriver in his grip to shattered plastic bits. “I mean- you _will_ stay an extra hour.” His voice gets louder and more commanding. “I order you to stay an extra hour, peon.”

“Sure, whatever,” Sollux says, stretching his arms until his shoulders click, then cracking every knuckle. “I’m leaving early next shift, then.”

Equius grabs for another screwdriver. “That is acceptable. Come clean this up.” He motions to the pile of yellow plastic bits, and Sollux shrugs and grabs the dustpan. Equius makes him clean a bunch of shit up, but it’s usually a contrived way to lock Sollux in a conversation. He seems eager to talk, and even though Sollux isn’t well-versed in Equius’ life, he can only assume that it’s in part due to the lack of Gamzee- from what he’s heard, they talked a lot, on a nightly basis, but Gamzee’s internet connection is horrible on his clown ship and he can only get a few lines out before the connection terminates.

“Trolls have been placing orders for all sorts of robotics,” Equius says from behind one of the giant Ruffianhiliatorbots. “Personal orders, not just for the Alternian military.”

Sollux empties the dustpan into the trash, and then hops up onto the work table to sit. “Personal orders? Like sexbots, or what?”

Equius sputters out a few offended sounds. “For strifing. There have been inquiries about service bots as well, yet I imagine that the programming of one would be far too complex.”

“It would take a while, but I could do it. You fail to realize that I’m the fucking master of programming.” Sollux pauses before adding, “and you’re the fucking master of robots.”

“Yes. I’m surprised at the popularity of this business, it seems that word is spreading about the stellar quality that we produce.”

Sollux realizes after a moment that Equius is trying to tell him that he’s doing a good job, trying to tell him ‘thank you’, but he’s a bit too awkward and a bit too snobby. Sollux just nods and continues handing him different screwdrivers when he asks, perched up on the worktable for the full hour.

 

 

Feferi comes spinning into Eridan’s penthive late in the night, clutching in her hands a crinkled sheet of paper and looking brighter than usual. “Guess what I just did?”

Eridan looks up from his the book he’s reading on the sofa. “Do I hazard to guess?”

The couch cushions bounce Eridan around like he’s on a trampoline when Feferi launches herself next to him, waving the paper in his face. “I know, you’re going to get mad at me. This is a list of all the restaurants that have agreed to lift their caste restrictions!”

Eridan grabs a wrapper from a granola bar off of the coffee table and sticks it into his book as a makeshift bookmark, sighing deeply and tossing the hardcover novel away. “Fef, nobody wants to dine with a pack a’ lowbloods, an’ no lowbloods want to dine when there’s a pack a’ hungry nobles sittin’ next to them.”

“It doesn’t matter! What matters is that they’ll now have the freedom to.”

“You’re gonna get harpooned for this.”

“I’m in charge!”

Eridan picks up Feferi’s face in his hands, squishing her cheeks. “You’re bein’ tested by The Condesce is what’s goin’ on here.”

“Imf-mff-“ she shakes her face out of her moirail’s grip. “It doesn’t matter if she wants to test me or not. I’m the empress-to-be, and there’s nothing she can do about it.”

Eridan steals a glance back at his book. There are chapters on fuchsiabloods, detailing how they live for five thousand sweeps, how they’re rare, but not as rare as Jades, how they’re usually but not always female. There have been twelve recorded rulers of Alternia, two of which were male and three of which were Peixes. Gl’bgolyb has been the lusus of all of them, older than Alternia itself; she guided prehistoric trolls to civilization through whispers to Her Fuchsia Supremacy, Alternia’s first empress. It’s been the same ever since, the same system of stratification and tyranny, and Feferi is not going to change a hundred thousand sweeps of the same structure, especially not with her monster lusus.

But Eridan doesn’t tell her that. He doesn’t like talking about politics with her, due to their vastly different opinions, but she’s becoming so fixated on her internal affairs and the damn restaurants and she has no qualms bringing it up around him.

“Do whatever you want, then,” Eridan mutters coldly, picking his book back up. “And are you comin’ with me on that navy trip or not? I never got a straight answer.”

Feferi heaves a long sigh and moves off of her moirail to take off her tiara and massage at her scalp. “You know I can’t. Gl’bgolyb needs me.”

“I need you.”

“I know you’ll be fine.”

The page of the book tears half out when Eridan goes to flip it. He isn’t going to be fine. He’s a Royal-V and he’s biologically coded to go crazy without a moirail. It’s not just a temper that he’s got, it’s a lot of things, it’s innate madness and loathing all ruminating in the melting pot of his brain, stewing and bubbling and only kept from boiling over by Feferi.

“Are you gonna leave me when I go on my navy ship for real, too?”

Feferi’s brows knit and she takes a long breath in. When she breathes, her gills flutter, like they can’t remember that they aren’t needed because she spends so much time breathing in salty ocean water. “You aren’t the only thing in my life, Eridan Ampora,” she snaps. “And you aren’t the only important thing on Alternia.”

Though he wants to snap back and push a bit and tell her that he’s her moirail and he’d damn well better be the most important thing to her, he’s already lost his best friend from being a molding pile of garbage, and he’s not about to lose his moirail, too. Instead, he takes his book and gets up, muttering, “I need a minute to myself, if you _don’t mind_.”

“I love you,” she calls as he leaves, and she means it. “Pale for you.” She does that- every time she says something that she maybe shouldn’t have, and Eridan gets huffy and leaves, she tells him how much she loves him with utmost sincerity, just so he can’t brood and second guess himself. Insecurity is his biggest weakness, and when he’s feeling loved and included, he hates the world a little less, and that makes the world hate him a little less, and like a turning wheel, it brings him up and up to where he can stand to look in the face of others without wanting to blow their heads off. But when he slips off the wheel and starts to go down, he doesn’t stop, and he’s slipped off weeks ago.

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

CC: )(-EY!!   
TA: hii.   
CC: I need you to do me a BIG favor!   
TA: alriight, ii gue22 iit depend2 on the favor.   
CC: Would you be alright... maybe getting on a naval practice s)(ip for a season??   
TA: eheheh WHAT?   
TA: equiius would FLIIP HII2 2HIIT 2eriiou2ly he would be ruiined wiithout me.   
TA: al2o why are you a2kiing.   
CC: W------------------ELL...   
CC: I'm suporpoised to go, but I don't t)(ink s)(ould because of Gl'bgolyb!   
TA: riight that make2 2en2e ii am e22entiially your doppleganger, nobody would notiice a thiing.   
CC: 38/   
CC: I am supposed to go because t)(ere is no internet and because I'm -Eridan's moray eel, so somebody has to watc)( out for )(im!   
CC: I was t)(inking t)(at maybe you could watc)( over )(im!!   
CC: I know you aren't moireels but I can trust you to stop )(im from doing anyt)(ing violent! You )(ave my express permission to s)(oos)(pap )(im if you )(ave to! 380   
TA: uh no offen2e but where have you been for the pa2t periigree we are NOT on 2peakiing term2 plu2 he ba2iically 2avaged my face whiich ii clearly could not 2top.   
TA: a2k kanaya or 2omethiing.   
CC: I DID ASK KANAYA and s)(e's BUSY WIT)( VRISKA!!   
CC: SOLLUX T)(IS IS R----E-ELLY IMPORTANT! 38(   
TA: well... no.   
TA: 2eriiou2ly, ii would ju2t make thiing2 wor2e, ii don't even know why you thought a2kiing me wa2 a good iidea.   
CC: Because I couldn't t)(ink of anyone -ELS-E!!   
CC: And you two need to G-ET OV-ER IT ALR-EADY!!!   
TA: wow that ii2 pretty fuckiing rude comiing from you.   
CC: I DON'T CAR---E!!   
CC: You are best fronds and you won't LIST-EN to )(im!!   
TA: oh my god are you goiing two tell me that he diid nothiing wrong and ii am ju2t overreactiing?   
CC: NO!! I AM GOING TO T-ELL YOU THAT YOUR APPL-EB-ERRY FAC-E IS TOO DUMB TO S-EA )(OW S)(OR-EY )(-E IS!   
CC: And you don't G-ET IT!! )(e's sad and feeling bad and w)(en )(e eels bad )(ORRIBUBBL-E T)(INGS )(APP-EN! I am )(is moirail because I can stop t)(ose bad t)(ings from )(appening, BUT I CAN'T G-ET ON TH-E S)(IP B--ECAUS-E I )(AV-E A T-ERIBL-E LUSUS W)(O IS A )(UG-E BURD-EN AND NOBODY WILL UND-ERSAND T)(AT!!   
TA: look, ii am NOT hii2 moiiraiil, ii don't giive two 2hiit2 iif he kiill2 the whole fuckiing crew and blow2 hiim2elf up, iit ii2 NOT MY PROBLEM.   
  
twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

 

Eridan comes out of his room an hour later, clutching at his book and looking down at the ground like a scared puppy. Feferi is still guilty and frustrated, one straw short from screaming into a pillow. She didn’t mean it- she didn’t mean to say that Gl’bgolyb is terrible or a huge burden; she loves her lusus with everything she has.

 He sits down next to her and leans against her shoulder without a word, sharing the slow emanating waves of heat from their bodies, hearing their hearts beat in sync, slowly pumping royal blood through their bodies. After a long and peaceful minute, Feferi pulls her moirail’s cape around the both of them and drops her head onto his. “Oh, Eridan,” she whispers. “I’m shorey.”

He smiles a bit at the fish pun, a smile that she loves, because it’s almost always reserved for her- warm and barely there. She loves it because anybody else wouldn’t recognize it as a smile, because they don’t know Eridan like she knows him, and they wouldn’t see that a departure from a scowl might as well be a fin-to-fin grin.

“I’m shorey too,” he says, “I feel like shit lately.”

Feferi decides not to mention her conversation with Sollux, but a ping from Eridan’s phone makes her re-think. As he checks the message, the barely-there smile turns to not-there, and she sees his face transform into overblown anguish right there, and he throws himself into the pillows, and when she grabs him to look him in the eye, he’s angry and sobbing all at once, baring his fangs and knitting his eyebrows in a frustration and defeat.

“I’m tryin’ so fuckin’ hard, I swear I am.”

Feferi grabs the phone and looks at the message.

TA: can you PLEA2E 2top 2ugardaddyiing me, ii told you ii don’t want two 2ee you anymore and your 2tupiid fuckiing flower2 aren’t going two change my miind.

“Talk to him,” she urges, and Eridan wipes his face on his sleeve and takes his phone. “Tell him exactly how you feel.”

CA: im tryin so fuckin hard to make things better betwween us evven a little bit   
CA: my life is fuckin SHIT wwithout you an ivve got a hunch you feel the same

He doesn’t respond after that, and Feferi has to urge him to put the phone down to save his eyes from drying into raisins. He almost jumps out of his skin to pick it back up when it finally does ding, but the look of disappointment that crosses his face is enough to tell that it isn’t Sollux messaging him.

aspartameNovenary [AN] messaged caligulasAquarium [CA]   
aspartameNovenary [AN] added cuttlefishCuller [CC] to the conversation

AN: oi git to da castle yo hives are ready   
AN: pack yo shit   
AN: you movin in    
CC: R-E-ELY? 38D   
AN: yee i aint lyin to ya mate   
  
aspartameNovenary [AN] added coutieNavigator [CN] to the conversation

CN: What do you want?   
AN: rules n shit   
CN: Oh, that's reasonable.   
CA: wwhat wwe havve rules wwhy cant wwe just livve in our owwn fuckin hivves SOME of us like our privvacy   
CC: Just you! Mr. Privacy Pants 38)   
CA: i dont need a posse a brinesuckers hawwkin ovver me all night   
AN: naw mate we got piles a servants shits so cash   
CA: you wwere clearly not listenin wwhatsoEVVER i dont wwant piles a servvants messin up my delicate affairs   
AN: lol u funny i like dat   
CA: i swwear to cod if you are hittin on me right noww i am not in the mood i just got done dealin wwith some vvery personal emotional baggage   
AN: naw naw mate i aint doin shit   
CN: I think it's time that you stopped typing!   
AN: wot    
CN: *What   
CC: Maybe you could give us t)(e abridged version???   
CN: You aren't obligated to live in the communal mansion, but it's much more convenient for travel, communication, location, and access to water. It's also tradition for sea dwellers to be close to each other, physically and emotionally speaking.   
AN: LOLOLOL   
CC: I t)(ink it will be FUN!!   
CA: yeah for like an hour at best   
AN: lol base but wevs i get peeps to make me those lil sausage motha fucks erry evenin shits fuck yeeeah lol   
CN: I'd correct you, but I have no idea what you were trying to say.   
CN: So are you going to at least give it a chance? You're free to move out at any time, even though a great deal of time and effort was spent making you two custom built wings, and it will all go to waste otherwise.   
CC: I AM!   
CA: fine i guess although im startin to get fond a this penthivve   
AN: ey when i was a wiggla like you i had a wank on dat same couch lol   
CA: ok movvin is seemin a bit better noww   
  
couthieNavigator [CN] added ectopicNecrosis [EN] to the conversation

AN: oi oi why you gotta add him to da convo he aint even good in da pan   
EN: nn   
AN: fuckin ace mate   
CN: We each have a personal slave on call, as well as a personal chef. Personal slaves will do almost anything that you ask of them, except things that are illegal or will lead to their culling. Well, they'll do it anyway, but it is strongly advised that you don't ask them to, or else you'll have to find yourself a new slave.    
CC: Can we start using the term 'servant' instead?   
CN: Can we demolish thousands of sweeps of tradition and consistency? That was a rhetorical question; don't answer.    
CN: (The answer is no.)   
CC: 38C   
AN: lol your bra size changed again    
CA: i told you to stop fuckin talkin about my moirail like that you fuckin rubbish pan I WWILL BLAST YOUR FUCKIN HEAD OFF IF YOU DONT START RESPECTIN FEF   
CC: -Eridan, s)(us)(!!! It's okay, )(e is just being silly!!   
AN: (:p thanks mate you really get my humour   
CA: LAY OFF IT   
CN: Don't bring/send slaves or other lowbloods to the furthest Northeast wing.    
EN: PLEASE DONT    
EN: I clean it every night, nnight, night, giight, ,,,,, its never cleeeeeeannnnnnnnnnnnnnjddasfadfjae   
CC: Is )(e okay? 38/   
CN: No, but that's nothing new. Long story short, he is slightly unstable and has the preposterous idea that lowbloods carry infectious diseases and are conspiring to infect him ever since   
CN: Actually, never mind.    
EN: Thank you For Being Clean (Valued Customer)   
CN: <3   
CA: okay assumin i actually care wwhich i dont howw loww wwould be considered loww   
EN: GREEN   
CC: Green isn't that far down!    
EN: they. have. the VIRUS:   
CC: 38/   
AN: ey im bein heckeled hold up   
CN: *Heckled   
  
aspartameNovenary [AN] added antoinettesEulogy [AE] to the conversation   
aspartameNovenary [AN] added opulentAgent [OA] to the conversation   
  
AN: wot u want   
AE: Moirail talk, bro. And I have to ask F-I somethin9.   
AN: eh   
OA: u can have ur moirail over n e time ever obvs & u can do w/e u want in ur own wings, we dgaf.    
OA: wait nvm u 2 r moirails.   
AE: When you break up, you can brin9 over your new moirails anytime.   
CC: 380   
CA: wwoww rude   
AE: Well, mi9ht as well ask now. Are you 9oin9 on that ship, F-I?   
CC: 38( I can't! I am sure -Eridan will be fine!!   
OA: whoa HOLD ON a sec every troll needs their moirail on that ship.   
OA: it's NOT AN OPTION.   
OA: u canNOT just NOT have a moirail ok?   
CA: i havve a moirail it just so happens that shes the fuckin heiress an has a giant monster lusus muckin around that wwe havve to take care a   
OA: ok and i totes get that but u need 2 find a new moirail in that case...   
CA: i cant find a neww moirail thats despicable and unfaithful twwo things that i am absolutely not   
OA: omg    
OA: just   
OA: w/e just figure it out.   
CC: We will...   
OA: ok good! yay how xciting yay movin in how FUN!!   
CC: I AM -EXCIT-ED!   
OA: glub!   
CC: GLUB GLUB!   
CA: is this a glub chain    
CA: glubglubglub   
AN: glubity glub glub   
EN: gLUB>"Glub"   
CN: Glub, glub, glub, and glub.    
CC: 38D That was the B-EST T)(ING ---EV--ER!!!

* * *

 

Feferi doesn’t stop smiling the entire time they pack, and she finishes hours before Eridan with the help of the hotel staff. Eridan hates personal servants and workstaff, not because he wants to do things himself, but because he’s always hated other people seeing his personal things. Back before he came of age, he hadn’t even let Feferi into his respiteblock. Seahorsedad was the only one to ever be around his things.

A flood of excitement flares through Eridan when he realizes that being on the water will let him move in with his lusus again, but it quickly gets renunciated; he’s a mature troll and he doesn’t need a lusus, but he misses having the seahorse bob around his hive.

 

Seahorsedad is already waiting for Eridan when he goes through the winding hallways to find his wing, entering through a colossal, ornate doorway with his symbol and unique shade of violet displayed proudly on it. He makes a whinnying sound and floats over, skimming over the air as if it were water and rams into Eridan’s chest, nuzzling, purring, and letting the scales on his snout get stroked.

“Missed you,” Eridan murmurs to his lusus, and the seahorse turns around and wiggles, urging his caretaker to climb on his back.

They float all over the wing, which turns out to be at least twice the size of Sollux’s whole hivestem, with the familiar musty smell of salt, but lacking the strong odour of rotting wood that the old ship had, being made of stone bricks. There’s an underwater sitting area, the only sunken part of the whole wing, and Seahorsedad lets Eridan dismount to enter the water on his own time, making small supportive sounds with every shaky step that Eridan takes down the steps. It’s been a long time since he’s been completely submerged, and he finds himself holding his breath as soon as his mouth gets covered with the cold ocean water. The hem of his shirt floats around his stomach, exposing the very ends of the scarring on his side that had once been lilac, but since faded to a pure and milky white. His hands tremble as he instinctively moves to smooth the shirt down and cover his skin up, and he submerges himself entirely, shutting his inner eyelids and taking a cautious breath in through his gills.

Breathing underwater is exactly as he remembered it to be and exactly as he keeps describing it- like breathing though your nose when you’re stuffed up. The rush of water through his gill system sends chills through his body, and his earfin flutters with the cold. Underwater, his scarf and long sleeves are useless for warmth, and he’s doomed to be colder than ever, another drop in the ocean of reasons that he loathes being subsurface. His lungs beg him to get a good breath of air, and the same feeling passes through his gills- one that he’s not used to, and it feels almost like his skin is opening up and his veins are constricting. The feelings are not so intense that he feels like he’s suffocating; they’re just enough that it’s an uncomfortable, unnatural feeling and that it’s scary, even with his lusus slowly bobbing next to him.

He focuses on the room to distract himself, admiring the warped view of heavy stone furniture and floating lights that are heavy enough to hover a few inches above his head and light up the water with beams of warm light. There isn’t much else, just a couple of chests with nothing inside them and a coffee table, but when Eridan reaches the end of the room to admire an ancient painting of a war scene, his gills fuck up and he starts choking, convulsing and thrashing around to try and swim back to the stairs, and he accidentally sucks in a breath with his lungs and starts to cough.

His lusus scoops him up and drags him back to the steps, leaving him in a cold, wet heap to cough and hack the water from his lungs, poking his scaly nose underneath his caretaker’s shirt to lift it up and inspect the purple slashes across his ribs and diagnose the problem.

“Fuckin’ disgrace,” he hisses to himself through his teeth, shoving his lusus out of the way and jerking his shirt back down. A yelp from the seahorse sends a brand new chill through Eridan, and when he looks up, he sees that he’s pushed his lusus to hard, and caused him to bump his head on the marble floor. A small trickle of violet blood leaks from in between his eyes.

The first time Eridan tries to cradle Seahorsedad’s face in his palms and wipe the blood away, he leans away, baring his fangs instinctively. Seconds later, when Eridan tries again, he lets his snout fall into Eridan’s palms.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, gently dabbing the blood away with his wet scarf. The seahorse makes a bleating sort of sound in response and moves to flop his head onto Eridan’s shoulder. If he had arms, they would certainly be wrapped around his caretaker, but that falls onto Eridan to do, and he does; he pulls his lusus closely to him, stroking his back and lolling his head against him. “I keep fuckin’ up, don’t I?”

Eridan isn’t sure what it means when Seahorsedad nuzzles his earfin and pokes a tongue out to play with it, but he hopes it means something like, “It’ll get better.”


	9. Misplaced Sex Talks and Ship Takeoffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While looking at the lengths of my chapters, I started wondering: do you think these are decent chapter lengths? I aim for 4-5k words per, but I could easily make them shorter or longer if it would make reading easier. Let me know what you think!

The first morning, Eridan wakes up to the banging of the door knocker on his massive entrance to the wing. It’s disorienting at first, as he stares up through the murky haze of slime at engraved ornaments in his ceiling, and he wonders where he is, before realizing that this is where he’s going to call home.

It’s cold. The whole palace is a wet sort of chill, like icy rain that penetrates his bones and makes them feel like they’re freezing and cracking, and is not at all like the plushy comfort of the penthive, and certainly not like the fire-warmed musty insides of his childhood hive. The floor is a fine marble, and the walls are a white stone that bounce all the cold, humid air around and collect drops of condensation near the sunken room. Eridan makes an mental note to demand that numerous fireplaces be built in his wing.

It isn’t Feferi at his door like he expected; it’s a gangly slave with buggy eyes and a sad looking pair of horns that aren’t much thicker than straws. He bows as soon as the double doors part.

“GoodmorningPrinceAmporaI’myourpersonalslaveWhatwouldyoulikeforbreakfast?” he says all in one breath. His bugged out eyes skitter around the hallway, careful not to pry into Eridan’s hive, as if he’s tap dancing on the line between being culled and staying alive. A rush of power goes through Eridan as he remembers that the slave _is_ tap dancing on the line; damn near everybody is tap dancing on the line whenever Eridan is in the room.

As he was expecting the person at the door to be Feferi, Eridan is wearing his jammies and slippers with his hair smushed all over his forehead, and no amount of fang bearing is going to make him seem scary, especially not when he’s ordering a plate of waffles with orange juice, so he goes for the nonchalant act and waves the slave away. The slave nods, bows, and skitters out, shuffling his feet but making almost no sound.

 

A brief ten minutes later, a stack of waffles and a tall glass of orange juice is being offered to Eridan on a frosted glass tray. Seven kinds of syrup line the edge of the tray in tiny jugs, going from blue to brown to red, as well as an aerosol can of whipped cream, a container of sprinkles, and a bowl of frozen berries.

Eridan takes the tray without thanking the slave- he’s a slave, for fuck’s sake, and that would be all sorts of wrong- and puts it down on the round breakfast table beside the window, bathing it in starlight. For a few moments, he eats in silence, trying out all the different syrups and putting swirls of whipped cream and berries all over his breakfast. He doesn’t bother with the sprinkles, because what is he, six sweeps old?

Feferi finally comes around to his door when he’s halfway through his first waffle and joins him, stealing a waffle off of the tray and starting to decorate it.

“Oh my cod, this is great!” she says whilst drawing smiley faces with whipped cream and berries, dumping sprinkles all over. “Look, it’s you!” She lifts up the waffle, which has a giant smile, big square glasses with raspberry eyes, and purple syrup along the top to simulate hair. Sprinkles are dumped unceremoniously over the nose area like sugary freckles.

“Well don’t eat it now, that’s gonna be downright creepy,” Eridan says with a poorly hidden smirk as he places a raspberry in the center of the whipped cream tiara he’s making.

They trade waffles and end up eating their waffle selves, starting with a knife and fork but ending up folding them in half and chomping down.

“Wow, look at that star!” Feferi says after swallowing the last bite, and when Eridan glances up at the sky, he sees his moirail snatch his glass and down the orange juice in one fell swoop. “Psyche!”

“Fef!”

“Oh, come on! We can get you another one.”

Feferi bolts from the table, grabbing the end of Eridan’s cape and pulling him out of his wing, weaving along the communal hallways as if she’s been living there for sweeps, right into a huge kitchen area.

Two slaves are busy making food, and one is wiping down the marble topped dining table. Feferi smiles at one of them and says, “Hi Izenli,” and the slave immediately curtseys at Feferi and greets her with a “Hello, your highness.”

          A rush of blood goes to Eridan’s face and he grabs Feferi’s wrist tight enough to leave white rings when she shakes him off. “You aren’t supposed to know their names,” he hisses through gnashed teeth.

          “She isn’t my slave,” Feferi says simply, loud enough for everybody to hear her. “Izenli is my servant, and she is also my friend!”

          “She’s your slave, Fef, or else you’re missin’ the whole point, an’ I know for a fact you’ve had slaves your whole life, _princess_.”

          “They were all my servants and friends!”

          “You’re nuts.”

          “You’re being a snob!”

          “I’m bein’ a normal sea dwellin’ member a’ society.”

          They bicker all the way back to Eridan’s wing, where they both shake their heads and stop speaking entirely, tuning each other out to the sound of the television.

       

caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling arsenicCatnip [AC]

CA: hey nep   
AC: :33< *ac the catfish circles dualscars boat menacingly, waiting for him to s33 her!*   
CA: oh uh   
CA: *dualscar shoots her wwith his gun game ovver*   
CA: i havve somethin i need to ask you   
AC: XOO< rawr noo thats no fun!   
AC: :33< you always used to play games with me even if you made me k33p it secret   
CA: i dont knoww wwhat youre talkin about   
AC: :33< i s33 what youre doing! :33 no way jose i know you like to rp   
CA: yeah i knoww i wwas the best at it fuckin unstoppable in my glory day   
CA: the stories a my conquests are LEGEND lusii wwill be readin their grubs those tales soon enough   
AC: :33< more like those tall tails!   
AC: :33< we all know you were just a kid in an oversized coat! XDD   
CA: hey FUCK YOU   
AC: XOO< whoa yikes didnt mean to ruffle your fur! take a d33p breath   
CA: sorry didnt mean to get angry there   
CA: i guess you knoww wwhat its like   
AC: :33< yep! outbursts happen but its okay as long as im here :33   
AC: :33< 33k i mean me for equius feferi for you   
CA: right    
AC: :33< but that was just furrendly relaxation advice   
CA: right cod i knoww no pale finfidelity thats grotesque   
AC: :33< so what did you want to ask me?   
CA: oh i wwas just wwonderin uh   
CA: im goin on a navy ship for a couple a perigrees so i wwont be on the planet   
CA: its probably a lot to ask a you   
CA: i knoww you do a lot a huntin and stuff wwith pounce or wwhatevver   
CA: youre probably pretty good at it   
AC: :33< y33s?   
CA: wwell you knoww i havve to feed glbgolyb right   
AC: :33< huh?   
CA: wwhat you dont knoww about that??   
CA: yeah glb eats troll lusii or else she lets out this awwful fuckin sound that kills evveryone   
CA: but shes a slimy filth an wwont hunt for herself so i havve to   
CA: or fef does i guess but i do it for her   
AC: :33< gosh that is really scary!   
AC: :33< and also very admirable!   
CA: wwoww thanks   
CA: but since im goin to be gone i was thinkin maybe you could    
CA: an fef could swwim them dowwn to her she alwways does   
AC: :33< :?? why does she always?   
CA: wwhat   
CA: oh   
CA: uh   
CA: you knoww just   
CA: lusus troll bond things an all   
AC: :33< okay   
CA: wwhat you mean you wwill?   
AC: :33< sure   
CA: seriously that wwas easy   
AC: :33< :33   
CA: thanks that means a hell of a lot

caligulasAquarium [CA] sent the file howwtofeedglb.txt

         

* * *

 

          When Sollux starts having trouble getting his respiteblock door open because of the mounds of crap that he has yet to unpack jamming it, he shuts off his computer for what must be the first time in perigrees, turns off his phone, and starts cleaning.

          He’s always been in the habit of letting his hive get to a state of chaos before going on a painfully long cleaning spree. A few red bull cans don’t bother him. A pizza box here and there (and there, and there, and there, and there) make his hive seem homey. And the piles of burnt cheese on the bottom of the oven? Obviously not toxic, so why bother cleaning them out, other than the fact that they sometimes catch on fire and set off the smoke alarm.

          There’s a giant piss coloured stain with a few drops of violet that will not come out of his carpet that is currently concealed by a box of magazines that he and Eridan and sometimes Karkat or Aradia would deface with funny moustaches and unibrows. Buried between them are two identical recent tabloids full of actors and actresses, mainly, but there’s a ‘Keeping Up With The Keelhaulers’ spread in the middle, because apparently there is a sizable portion of salarytrolls that care very intensely about the quadrants and strife equipment of their ruling class.

          The first few pictures are of trolls that Sollux is ashamed to recognize, though he can’t put the names and faces together. There’s a bitchy looking troll standing next to what must be his juggalo kismesis with a bunch of clipart spades around it and a long paragraph that Sollux refuses to let penetrate his eyeballs, a sea dweller that Sollux doesn’t recognize standing next to a giant ship with specs underneath, a picture of Eridan and Feferi- that Sollux was cropped out of- with pink diamonds and a clipart crown denoting them as a model moirallegiance. The text beneath it reads, “ _Heiress to Her Imperious Condescension, Princess (Feferi) Peixes enjoys an evening with her dashing moirail, Prince (Eridan) Ampora. The two are seldom seen without each other, and are usually in the company of their aristocrat friends, as well as the jadeblooded Kanaya Maryam. They earn the envy of many trolls with their rare highblooded moirallegiance. Aren’t they cute?”_

The picture immediately below it isn’t quite like a tabloid picture; it’s a focused and clear shot of Eridan perched up on a rock in the shallow parts of the water, washing blood off his rifle. There’s teal lusus blood all over both him and his gun, which the tabloids probably love- shows of power, endorsements of violence, superiority; the picture is the largest on the page and just screams “what’re you gonna do about it?” because the implication to those who don’t know Eridan’s duties is that he slaughtered a couple of Teals and doesn’t give a fuck.

Contrast to the most tabloid pictures, this one was taken with the clear intent of making Eridan look good, and dangerously so. The angle is just perfect to dodge glasses glare and see right through to his dark eyes, frontal enough to catch the way his cheekbones drink in the moonlight reflecting off the water, but turned slightly to show the sweep of his jaw and the lines of his neck that lie unexposed in the absence of his scarf. His hair is wet and slicked back without the usual pieces curling in front of his earfins, but it’s not soaked; it’s already beginning to wave as it dries.

And while that alone is almost enough to make Sollux flush his pride away in the load gaper and offer the stalkerazzi whatever they want in exchange for a high res copy of the photo, it isn’t just the way the starlight gleams off of his gun and light up his face, or the way the collar of his shirt stretched with the water and dips to show the right side of his collarbone that give Sollux asshole-amnesia.

The picture is clearly a candid one, as Eridan looks more relaxed than Sollux has ever seen him in person. His eyelids are dropping, not with lethargy, but with tranquility, or like his eyelashes are too heavy for his lids to support. He isn’t smiling nor scowling, but his mouth isn’t fixed in a tight line or a sneer; his lips are pursed slightly and his brows are pulled together a hair closer than they should be to compliment the way his fingers work in focused strokes between all the ridges of his rifle.

There’s something about Eridan’s intense concentration that seems so easy and effortless, so ordinary, and it makes Sollux’s chest burn for a reason that’s on the tip of his tongue but that he can’t quite grasp. It’s life, he decides on, even though he knows that isn’t the reason he’s looking for. It’s a constant in Eridan’s life, perching on a rock, being cold and dripping wet, to clean blood off of his prized rifle. It’s been that way since he was a wiggler, and maybe he was raised by the white lightning as much as he was raised by his lusus.

If Eridan would have seen that his picture was being taken, Sollux has little doubt that he would have killed the photographer. Sollux wouldn’t complain if he did. The picture is a split second of private vulnerability, one tiny glimpse into Eridan having feelings and a life and a past and a history of feeding a monster lusus and a rifle from his hero. That’s why Sollux bought the tabloid. That’s why he bought two copies and cut the picture out of the second, and that’s why he slides the worn down 2x4 rectangle between his toothpaste and eye drops in the medicine cabinet, and he finds himself taking it out and staring at it when he kneels in the bathtub and jerks himself off before turning the shower on.

It ripped from all the times he’s balled it up and thrown it down at the ground in utter disgust, complete engulfing shame that trumps all of the hatred he’s ever had towards himself and more. The ink is bleeding, too, from all the times that it’s caught the breeze of the furnace and fluttered back to divebomb into the draining trails of genetic material. He’d thought he was fucked up enough when he jerked off in Eridan’s shower thinking about how good the sea dweller smelt and how Sollux would rub his horns, then even more so when he started having those fucking dreams, those goddamn dreams that should wake him up cold but do the opposite, but then this picture, this stupid awful picture wormed its way into Sollux’s mind and he got the grand idea to buy another fucking copy of the tabloid so he can masturbate to a grainy candid shot of his former best friend.

He wishes the scenarios in his mind were black and violent, maybe with himself slamming Eridan against the rock and clawing at his hips, but they’re redder than cherries on milkshakes, full of security and love and shared pleasure and passion. And Sollux knows that’s what he really wants, that sex notwithstanding, all he wants is for things to go back to the way they were, but he’s clinging to his imaginary pride, and maybe he’s also punishing Eridan for not wanting to hold his hand the entire time they pail, and for tying him up and fucking him but not even letting him have a post coital kiss.

“Not a fucking romantic,” he grumbles to himself out loud as he slams the tabloid back into the box. “Don’t fucking want you, don’t fucking need you, get fucked you piece of shit.”

The bottle of carpet cleaner has a thick layer of dust over it, but Sollux takes it out anyway and kicks the box of magazines aside to start scrubbing at the stains on his carpet again, but they hardly even budge, instead being covered by the white froth of cleaner. After about five minutes of scrubbing more and more aggressively, his hands cramp and his knuckles get sore, and he hurls the scrub brush kitchen-ward and slides the box back over the spot.

There aren’t any more flowers or gifts since he asked Eridan to stop, but he keeps up with little letters and notes that infect Sollux’s grudge like drips of water that freeze in the cracks they make and split the shell until it’s shattered to pieces. Eventually, Eridan gives up on apology letters and startes writing them as if he’s far away, like he’s an old penpal from before there were computers and internet.

 

_D-1 st/2nd/HIC-3110th_

_I went out furniture shoppin wwith Kan and Fef cause my hivve is fuckin ass in the decoration department, but the fuckin place wwas filled up wwith nasty crunchy couches far too cheap for a fuckin mansion like wwhat I livve in. Kan said that there’s a bunch a other places but they’re all so far like wwho has the time for that? Not me that’s right fuckin sure. All these sea dwwellers are fixed on teachin me an Fef asinine shit, like dealin with stalkerazzi an wwhen to givve them intervviewws instead a tellin me howw to pilot an actual ship. An wwhen I ask, they just get after me all ooh wwhen’s your neww moirail comin ovver, fuckin insolent salt swwallowwers._

_Anywway, you should get skidootin an come vvisit sometime, preferably really early or really late so there’s no fuss from all the other assholes about havvin you ovver._

_~ED_

_D-1 st/5th/HIC-3110th_

_Nep and Equi came over today (I’m settlin on Equi cause Eq sounds too much like Euuughckk like some call a disgust (maybe that’s fittin though heheh (don’t tell him I said that.))) One a the sea dwellers, some brinestraww called Evarne wwho seems alright but is actually a fuckin hag gavve Nep the stink eye wwhen wwe wwere hangin out in the common room until I got up and asked her if she wwanted to start shit with a badass huntin kitty cat troll an she had the audacity to tell me that I should quote “lose the toxic friends,” wwhat a glub glub huge bitch._

_But anywway I brought up the completely vvalid point that her moiral is a fuckin Bronze, but apparently moirails are “different”, fuckin con artist._

_So wwhen you come ovver wwhich wwill hopefully be soon, wwe’ll just havve to get you to my quarters really fast and stay there evven though there’s fuckin shit all to do except wwatch TV, all the gamin platforms an shit are in the common room but wwhatevver right, wwe havve a lot a catchin up to do._

_~ED_

_D-1 st/7th/HIC-3110th_

_Fuckin outrageous. Fef just told me that she was harassin you to get on that ship wwith me wwithout my prior knowledge, wwhat a fuckin cop. I got pretty fuckin pissed an I kinda knocked ovver one a the vvases in her room an she flipped a shit at me, not that I can blame her. I mean I kinda get it an all I’m not a dumbass I knoww Gl’bgoylb is fussy probably evven more than she does. Anywway I got shit sorted wwith Nep to take care a feedin an such wwhen I’m gone but I still need a moirail or somethin an Fef is really not available so I dunno what to do aside from ask you._

_~ED_

_D-1 st/10th/HIC-3110th_

_Okay it’s gettin really close to my ship out date I’m startin to panic here cause I promised that I wwould have it all sorted but I don’t. I need you to unblock me really bad so wwe can at least talk._

_~ED_

On the 1st day of the 1st dark season’s equinox, Sollux wakes up to endless pinging of his husktop.

 

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

CC: )(ello Sollux!   
CC: Sooooooooooooooollux!   
CC: Wake up sleepy)(ead!!   
CC: I know we parted on sort of a bad note last time. 38(   
CC: I just )(ope you've given it some t)(oug)(t at least!   
TA: giiven what thought.   
CC: GLUBGLUBSIG)(.   
TA: what don't giive me that 2hiit okay, ii can't read miind2 de2piite what you all thiink.   
CC: G-ETTING ON T)(-E S)(IP!!! IT IS L-EAVING TONIG)(T AND I AM SCAR-ED!!   
TA: oh yeah no.   
CC: O)( MY COD SOLLUX T)(IS DUMB S)(IP IS MAKING US FIG)(T SO MUC)(!!   
TA: well ii'm 2orry two hear that, for you, not really for eriidan.   
TA: iin all hone2ty ii would be 2toked two hear that all of hii2 quadrant2 2tarted faiiliing agaiin.   
CC: Sollux, no you wouldn't.   
CC: You still care aboat )(im and you want )(im to be )(appy!   
CC: Because )(e shore does care aboat you!   
CC: Sometimes )(e turns on )(is grubstation and t)(en turns it off w)(en )(e remembers t)(at you aren't t)(ere to play wit)( )(im anenemore.   
TA: ehehe really??   
TA: what a lo2er.   
CC: 38/   
CC: W)(y can't you be )(onest wit)( me? We are fronds and we used to glub aboat our feelings all the time.   
TA: ehehe yeah, when we were mate2priit2 liike ten thou2and 2weep2 ago, be2iide2, you would tell eriidan every 2iingle thiing ii'm telliing you, ii bet he'2 2tandiing riight behiind you.   
CC: Okay yes but )(e's gone now!   
TA: oh my god.   
CC: Could you unblock )(im so )(e can talk to you at least?   
CC: Please?    
CC: For M-E? 38D   
TA: ugh FIINE tell hiim he has fiive miinute2.

 

caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

TA: tiick tock.   
TA: are you goiing two 2ay anythiing or are you goiing two 2iit there iin 2ilence untiil ii block you agaiin?   
CA: i dunno i think at some point wwhy evven bother apologizin anymore clearly its not wworkin   
CA: its all pretty futile i mean maybe wwere just not meant to be friends or nothin   
CA: so maybe i should just leavve you be an find a neww be2t friend   
CA: it just wwont be the same you knoww i dont think ill find someone like you evver   
TA: yeah, ii doubt iit. ii am WAY 2uperiior two pretty much everybody.   
CA: heheh yeah   
CA: i dont knoww if thats sarcasm but i mean youre really good at all sorts a things   
CA: not just computer things but the quality a your person is wway higher than you think it is   
CA: i guess ill find someone to fill that huge gaping hole in my blood pusher but itll be a long fall from you   
CA: if its wwhat you wwant i wwont talk to you again   
TA: ...   
TA: ii gue22 thii2 ii2 iit then, la2t tiime we talk, how terriible.   
TA: liike wow, ii am 2iitiing here 2obbiing over iit.   
TA: OBVIIOU2LY 2obbing viiolently.   
TA: very viiolently, there are angry 2tream2 of pii22 tear2 on my face.   
TA: ehehe   
TA: you are 2uch a fuckiing 2hiithead, ii told you ii don't giive a 2hiit and ii don't.   
TA: OF COUR2E you have two make a fuckiing 2cene about iit though you are 2uch a petty drama whore.   
TA: unto u2 the curtaiin2 fall, a22hole.   
CA: uh   
CA: did you just   
TA: diid ii what.   
CA: did you do that on purpose   
TA: what are you talkiing about?   
TA: oh, ii get iit, you're goiing on a 2tupiid FUCKIING TANGENT ABOUT HOW II'M 2HIITY AND HORRIIBLE AND EA2IILY REPLACABLE BY WHATEVER RANDOM FUCKHEAD COME2 YOUR WAY.   
TA: and that the only thiing ii'm good for ii2 beiing ob2e22ed wiith the number two liike a moron and beiing there for you when you need to rub one out.   
TA: oh, and 2iince we're apparently giiviing each other 2ome partiing word2, gue22 what? ii jerk off thiinkiing of you ehehe thiink about that next tiime you try and 2leep. ii hope you 2pend the next two 2weeps iin an endless 2hudder of dii2gu2t over THAT one you fuckiing piiece of 2hiit.   
CA: WWWWHAT??!!   
TA: oh god.   
TA: ii diidn't mean two hiit the 2end button.   
TA: oh god.   
TA: oh god oh god oh god   
CA: uh   
TA: oh my fuckiing god ii ju2t meant to vent iit out and delete iit.   
TA: thii2 ii2 po22iibly the wor2t moment of my whole pathetiic liife.   
CA: wwell um   
CA: i cant say ivve done the same but uh thanks i guess   
CA: i guess thats kinda flatterin   
CA: an if wwere bein totally honest if i wwere the type to spend a lot a time in the whole loop a self pleasure maybe i wwoulda done it to you wwho knowws i dont really   
CA: you knoww its kinda a big ordeal im so fuckin glad i can finally talk to somebody about this   
CA: it usually takes SUCH a long time so its not evven wworth it right like wwhy evven bother spending an hour tryin an failin to get off its so frustratin   
CA: like sometimes i just wwant my bulge out and it WWONT fuckin go it just stays all cooped up    
TA: OH MY GOD.   
TA: 2TOP TALKIING.   
CA: wwhat i thought wwe wwere swwappin pail stories you knoww like buddies   
CA: talkin about bulges an shit   
CA: comparin lengths its textbook buddy stuff   
TA: ii cannot beliieve   
TA: that you are tryiing two 2tart thii2 conver2atiion wiith me.   
CA: wwhat you started it sol come on givve a guy a fuckin break im just runnin wwith the convversation    
CA: glub   
TA: oh fuck everythiing. you are totally tryiing two piick up the 2hamble2 of my priide by 2toopiing down two my level wiith your embara22iing ejaculatory dysfunctiion.   
TA: FUCK and then you go and glub.   
CA: wwhat   
CA: hey   
CA: are you still there   
CA: sol   
CA: sollux   
CA: glub

* * *

 

The ship is perched on top of an enormous hill just off the harbour that is excavated and hollowed out to be flat topped and covered in cement and steel, providing a massive landing plane for any size ship, from the shuttles that go to the pink moon and back to the massive battleships that go on twenty sweep trips. Only one ship can land at a time, so they’re stored miles away and carted underground on a track, then raised through the hollow hill on a pulley system for takeoff. Further down from the flat hilltop, it dips and makes a ski-slope, sending the ship hurling off towards the ocean with enough momentum that it can start to fly.

The turbines are already whirring when the three sea dwellers get off the gondola that takes them to the top, Feferi tagging along to see her moirail off, and Eridan’s so called ‘mentor’ making his personal slave carry about seventeen cases of luggage. He had woken Eridan up with a giant packing list, containing everything from dress shoes to respirators, and given him a big shiny diamond pin “for your moirail”.

Feferi recorded five different videos of herself shoosh-papping the camera, as well as a few long letters about how “-Everyt)(ing will be okay!” in case of trouble. Cerati had begrudgingly accepted this, with a curt warning that if the videos don’t work, he reserves his right to stab Eridan “in the face, just totally in the face”. Feferi had vouched that Eridan is _not_ that unstable, but Eridan knows that he’s probably one of the most outwardly violent sea dwellers, just because he’s the only one that actually has any guts. That’s why the sea dwellers in the castle are all so lily-livered, because if they had any fighting spirit beyond petty squabbles, they’d be out in space with the others.

 

A petite yellowblood with small spikes for horns is leaning against the gondola barriers, texting on his phone when the sea dwellers begin to unload, donning the same pink diamond brooch as the one that lies unclaimed in Eridan’s pocket. He has a duffel bag strapped across him, and he’s wearing more pale pink than grey or yellow. Eridan wonders if moirails get special treatment on the ships.

On top of the hill, the wind picks up a slight mist of cool water, slickening the metal and concrete landing pad and shining it up so it can reflect wobbly lines of yellow starlight and pink and green moonlight. Anticipation fills the air, trolls in coveralls scurry back and forth and bark at each other, big boxes of food are loaded into the cargo and a horde of slaves wait at the end of the square for orders.

“Kay, we’ve gotta check in with the pilot, then drop our slaves off with the cargo people so they can take our bags to our quarters, I have to find my moirail and say goodbye to my friends- assumin’ they actually showed up, and- there he is!”

Eridan’s slave almost gets toppled over as Cerati pushes past him to get to what can only be his moirail, the texting yellowblood at the barriers.

“Ooh hoo, check out your captain gear,” the moirail says, tugging at the piped sleeves of Cerati’s coat then turning back to his phone. “Piloterrorizer’s been kicking up a shit waiting for you two.”

“Ugh, who is it this time?”

The moirail scrolls down on his phone. “Kinda cool looking, bald, shades?" He ticks points off on his fingers, and upon recieving a blank look from his moirail, sighs. "The guy with the ugly coat. Anyway,” he pockets the phone and gives his moirail a pat on the shoulder. “Gotta go stand with the rest of the ‘rails. Want anything for takeoff?”

“Yeah, you. Takeoff gets me nerved up.”

The moirail shrugs and starts across the steel. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says, ushering over both Eridan and Cerati’s personal slaves. An amused smirk crosses his lips at their struggles to carry all of the sea dweller’s baggage.

 

 

There are at least a hundred trolls scuttling around where Sollux is situated, near the crowd of slaves, but far off enough that he’s near the engine of the ship and can get a clear view of the whole hilltop. His backpack is heavy with practically all of his belongings, a few shirts and pants, every piece of underwear he owns (how often do they let lowbloods do laundry on a ship?) toothbrush, toothpaste, a bar of soap, emergency granola bars and a couple cans of pop, husktop, phone, deodorant, and a pile of other stuff, including what is definitely not a bottle of cologne.

He’s wearing most of his clothes on his back to save space, which turns out to be great considering that the night is cold, way too cold to be in a t-shirt, so his hoodie may as well be a godsend, even beside the engine, and he’s has the gold banded ring that Eridan left him on his middle finger, where it sparkles like there are lights inside of it.

He checks his phone, to find that it’s a half hour until takeoff. Eridan was supposed to arrive an hour before, if the info package that Sollux hacked into is to be trusted. He debates circling the hilltop to try and find him, but it’s warmer by the engine, and suddenly, a vaguely familiar voice is saying his name.

“Captor? So you didn’t get culled after all!”

Sollux turns around to face a few familiar trolls rolling boulders into a compartment of the ship.

He only remembers two of their names- Mytran and Finchi, because they talked a hell of a lotduring his short stint at the volatile materials cave, both to themselves and at Sollux, but they all look genuinely happy that Sollux is alive, even though he would hardly call them acquaintances, much less friends.

“What are you doing here? Good to see you!”

Sollux chokes on his words, trying to come up with a coherent explanation. Even he can’t really answer that question. “I’m doing a temporary moirail thing for Eridan, I guess,” is what he decides on. “I’m just waiting for him to get here.”

The two Yellows perk up in honest interest. “So what are you doing now, hotshot, aside from hanging out with royalty?”

Sollux shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, one of my friends does robotics for the Ruffianihilators, and he asked if I would do programming for him, since I’m basically apeshit bananas at it.”

The yellowbloods smile and nod, patting him on the back literally and figuratively before telling him that they have to get back to work and packing the ship full of the reactive boulders.

“Are these what the ship is running on?” Sollux asks them once they’re on their way back.

Mytran scoffs at him, but it’s a friendly scoff, much like everything that troll does. “These heaps? They’re for takeoff and emergencies, maybe enough to get you to the nearest planet. Nah, a ship like this has two or three helmsmen.” He points over to two tall trolls in yellow jumpsuits chugging down bottle after bottle of meal replacement shakes. “That’s them.”

“They get put out for a week at a time and then switch,” Finchi adds, like she’s some kind of helmsman expert. “So they get free shakes before to fatten them up a bit.”

One of the other trolls whose name Sollux doesn’t remember shudders. “Makes _The_ Helsman’s story even creepier,” he says. The way he says ‘The Helmsman’ makes it sound as though he’s talking about a specific one. “Kept awake during flight for ten sweeps at a time, yeesh.”

Finchi swats him with the back of her hand. “That’s a myth, dunkass.”

“Wait, who are we talking about?” another Yellow asks, and Finchi sighs.

“The Helmsman is apparently this amazing psionic that wronged The Condesce and is forced to pilot her battleship alone for all eternity, and a lot of versions of the story say that he’s kept awake the whole time.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” Sollux says.

 

Once the first warning siren goes off, telling everybody that the ship is going to disembark in ten minutes, all the volatile material workers wave goodbye and wish him luck on his ship. As he’s about to speedwalk across the hilltop in search of Eridan, a slave supervisor ushers him to get back with the others, prodding him in the back as he tries to explain that he can’t board yet- he’s a moirail and needs to go find Eridan, but she tells him “nice try, I don’t live under a rock” when he says Eridan’s name.

“Seriously, you are going to be so fucking sorry when he rips you a new one,” Sollux sneers as he gets thrown into the circle of chattering slaves. “He’s probably freaking out right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.”

He debates booking it out of there, but one of the other slaves links arms with him and drags him along as they make their way up the back ramp of the ship.

They get herded in an organized fashion, but politely, and he eventually acquiesces- once he sees Eridan, they’ll get things sorted out- and finds himself with his backpack on the middle slab of a three bunk berth. He’s seen rooms like the one he’s in in movies before, three triple decker bunks instead of recuperacoons, but it never really clicked that he would be sleeping on one. Before he can voice his concerns, one of the trolls from across the room says, “No sopor?”

The troll above Sollux laughs. “First time? No chucks on the ship.”

“No chucklevoodoos? So no nightmares?”

“Nope.”

A few of the other boys in the room start chattering, while Sollux stares up at the wooden slab, wondering what the fuck he got himself into.

“I’d kill for a ginger ale right about now. You think they’ll gimme one if I ask?”

“You the pilot or the captain’s moirail?”

“Engineer's Intern.”

“Cerulean?”

“Indigo.”

“Eh, give it a shot.”

The berth creaks beneath Sollux and the troll plods over to the yellowed plastic phone on the wall, dialing in a few numbers and asking for a thing of ginger ale. He sounds honestly surprised when the other end says yes.

Another slave supervisor comes in, male this time to fit with the eight trolls in the small bunker, with a 6-pack of ginger ale and a bag of spiced seaweed snack. He shakes the bag a bit. “Somebody take this to Ampora, he’s kicking up a shit about how he needs to chew on something or else his ears get plugged.”

Sollux jumps down from the berth, elated at having just the opportunity he was looking for. “I’ll go,” he says. “Where is he?”

“I’m his personal,” a buggy eyed troll says from one of the bottom bunks. “I can go.”

“Fuck off, I said I’m going.”

The slave supervisor hands off the bag to Sollux, then reaches in his pocket for a map. He points to the leftmost side, by the kitchens and tells him that they’re here, then points around the middle where there is nothing but a huge empty square, and says that Prince Ampora’s room is a few steps further, can’t miss it. “Be back in five,” the supervisor says, and Sollux starts feeling a bit testy with the violet ring on his finger and waves it in the supervisor’s face, ‘accidentally’ flipping him off in the process.

Sollux cranes his head all around as he walks through the ship, memorizing the layout as he goes. There are two bunkers for slaves across the hall from each other, one for girls and one for boys, plus some bathrooms, all hazily lit with fluorescent lights and painted a primer-white that turns to a sickly greenish hue in the cheap lighting. The floor is linoleum, and the whole area just screams ‘converted bathroom’.

As he keeps going down the hall, swinging doors periodically occur, leading to a long kitchen that stretches all the way down indefinitely. There are other rooms, presumably for slightly higher ranked crewmen, like the slave supervisors and cooks. A small flight of stairs takes Sollux out of fluorescent hell and into a grand balcony with two curved staircases leading down to a ballroom with lace covered dining tables off to the sides, but what is most amazing about it is the glass wall stretching from the floor of the ballroom all the way up and over the ceiling, creaing a skylight to bathe the massive area in pink light from the moon. There are almost no trolls around, save for a few down below setting tables in the warm starlight.

Sollux proceeds past the balcony and into a much wider and more lavish hallway that curves until the dead end is marked with three doors. The first is for the pilot, the second for the captain, and the third for the first mate, which Sollux assumes would be Eridan.

The doors are each double, with fake columns decorating the sides and carved wood murals depicting starry nights with sea creatures flying around. Beside the knobs are doorbells and a speaker.

Sollux rings the bell, and sure enough, Eridan’s voice comes through. His throat starts to drag up acid from his stomach and he’s pretty sure he’s about to vomit. Sollux hates surprises himself, and he hasn’t even seen Eridan’s face in person in so long.

“This had better be my fuckin’ seaweed I asked for, if it isn’t don’t bother comin’ in.”

“It is,” Sollux says, and somehow, in four letters, his voice cracks twice.

The door swings open without so much as a creak. Eridan’s jaw drops open in shock at first, gaping at the boy with red and blue shades in front of him.

“Surprise,” Sollux says lamely, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie and glancing up at the sea dweller in front of him. 

And Eridan breaks into a smile bright and beautiful enough that it could melt the sun itself. He gives the odd warm smile, a chuckle here and there when they would hand out, but Sollux has never, _ever_ seen him beam like he's doing now, the way his eyes scrunch up and shine with happiness, and his earfin seems to perk up. Eridan has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, shoes off and replaced by fuzzy slipper boots, but he’s still got all of his jewelry on, and Sollux figures he’s already twice as striking as the moonlight coming from the balcony windows, maybe twenty times, or hell, two hundred times, but with the smile, he skyrockets all the way up to an infinite number, to the only troll in the universe worth looking at, all sharp fangs and fluffy hair, freckles on his nose and glasses sliding down.

“You… you actually came!” Eridan says, bubbly and ecstatic like he is, for a moment, Feferi, and he pounces on Sollux with the valour of Nepeta and squeezes him like he’s trying to fuse their bodies into one and turn them into one grinning Eri-Sol mishmash. “God, you actually came! An’ I’m… I’m still so sorry for all the shit I did.”

Sollux squeezes him back twice as tight. “I forgive you,” he says clearly, because he’s pretty sure that it’s true. He buries his face in Eridan’s hair, which is less gelled and more soft than usual, but all the same, it still smells like salt water and fruit and beaches, and if the moonlight had a smell, it would certainly smell like that too. “And of course I came, I’m not going to leave you on a ship without anybody to look after your sorry ass.” He waits until they shuffle inside Eridan’s room to add, “What sort of a friend would I be?”

“Not my best,” Eridan says.

They hold the hug for an impossibly long time, long enough that Sollux swears that he’s slipped into insanity from the smell of Eridan’s horn rub and shampoo being so close to him, and it’s hard to tell if it’s the ship that’s a hundred feet off the ground, or if it’s just him.  


	10. Cuddle Schedules and Drinks

“… so if you let your health gauge get all the way to flashing red, the gatekeeper will let you through and you can unlock the easter egg inside the theatre room.”

“No, no, the goblins keep fuckin’ gangin’ up on me when I get inside an’ I die.”

“There’s a chest right around- no, fuck, not there- around the back- fuck!” Sollux throws his head back into the velvet cushions of the couch. There’s no proper TV, only recordings, but Eridan’s quarters came stocked with game devices and outdated games, one of which brought both trolls intense nostalgia upon seeing: Her Imperious Planet Smasher, the game that Sollux had spent the better part of a sweep achieving one hundred percent completion on.

After breaking from their hug and sharing spiced seaweed snack during takeoff (Sollux had touched the very tips of his tongue to the plant and felt his blood pressure spike to dangerous levels- who puts salt on seaweed?), Eridan had tossed Sollux a moirail pin and urged him to stay for a while longer, waving the game in his face with a knowing smirk.

And so he finds himself slumped on the couch, watching the pear-shaped sea dweller character run around on screen forking goblins, listening to Eridan curse and yell whenever HIPS doesn’t jump high enough or dodge an attack fast enough.

He could spend his entire life melting into the soft cushions, making himself into Eridan’s gaming mentor, because it’s just like old times, not just from a few perigrees ago, but from sweeps ago, from when they would stay up way too late into the day with headsets on, miles and miles away from each other.

“Fuck, let’s co-op, I’m going to have a fucking aneurysm watching you miss all these chests.”

Eridan tosses him a controller, and Sollux joins the game as Planet Excavating Culling Superior, immediately steering the beefy sea dweller around to open up all the hidden chests that Eridan forgot.

They’re in the middle of a boss battle when there’s a knock on Eridan’s door.

“You wanna just ignore it?” Eridan asks, thumbs wildly tapping at the controller. “I’ll say I was in the shower.”

Sollux shrugs and lands the final hit on the sea monster, and leans over to deliver a swift high five to his friend. The knocking on the door ceases after a while, and they breeze through the next few levels, all the while chattering about all the parts of each other’s lives that they missed.

“I was out to grab some sushi, ‘cause my slave’s a fuckin’ piece a’ work an’ I wanted some fresh air, an’ there’s a fuckin’ sea urchin on the ground, right on the fuckin’ sidewalk, so I hurled it all the way back to the beach, an’ I got this,” Eridan shows Sollux three black splinters embedded in his palm.

“Noble, yet idiotic,” Sollux says back, tugging up his jeans to show a huge bruise on his ankle. “If it’s any consolation, I keep tripping over the piles of garbage I don’t clean up.”

“You’re so fuckin’ gross, livin’ in filth.”

“It’s not filth; it’s clutter. If you’re going to insult me, at least try to be accurate.”

“You’re so fuckin’ gross, livin’ in clutter.”

“Yes, much better. Where would you be without me?”

Eridan puts the game on pause without warning. “You want food? Let’s go get food, I’m feelin’ malnourished as high hell right now.”

Sollux glances down at his stomach, as if the organ will tell him his state of hunger, to realize that he is actually very hungry- he hasn’t eaten since the middle of the night, and it’s almost day, but somehow, gaming tends to negate all food sac rumblings. “Yeah, sure,” he says, and straightens the moirail pin.

 

They make their way back into the enchanting area of the ship, where the balcony overlooks the stars, which is now filled with trolls holding unknown occupations. He wonders if they’re soldiers going to different planetary bases.

Down the curved staircases, by the ballroom, several dozens of trolls are dining in semi-formalwear, looking clean and classy in button-up shirts and combed hair. Sollux glances down at his faded shirt, then to Eridan’s sweater.

“I’m assumin’ you didn’t bring anythin’ beyond your overworn shirts?” Eridan says with a laugh, and Sollux shakes his head and flips him off, earning himself a shove. “You mean I’m gonna have to lend you my clothes _a-gain_?”

 

          Eridan has, for some reason, brought enough garments to clothe all of paradox space, easily finding a white button-up for Sollux and a black one for himself, which he wears with his cape and looks even more gaudy-yet-endearing than usual.

          “Am I ready to be seen by the eyes of the living yet?” Sollux says, trying out the top button on the shirt but deciding that he’s not in the mood to be strangled by cotton. “Or is my computer nerdiness seeping through these clothes already?”

          “Your computer nerdiness could seep through a brick wall. You figure jeans are okay?”

          “I figure nobody’s going to spend the night staring at your ass, so it doesn’t matter.” Sollux bites his tongue as he says that, because he’s completely setting himself up to hear ‘except you’ in response, and he’ll die of embarrassment if that happens. Qucikly, he adds, “Let’s just go, I’m not getting any fatter here.”

          Eridan smooths the collar of his shirt down until it lays perfectly crisp against his neck. “Hey, Sol…” he says, and trails off when they make their way back to the balcony, descending the stairs this time.

          “What?”

          “I was just wonderin’…”

          “ _What_?”

          “If you would maybe…”

          “If I would _what,_ fuck?

          “Or I guess if we could…”

          “For fuck’s sake, if you can’t spit it out, just shut the fuck up.”

          Eridan shuts the fuck up for a moment, as they get to the podium and the hostess seats them in corner booth, leaving them with menus and a glowing candle between them. Once they’re alone, he continues fumbling with his rings and pressing his lips together while gazing off into the distance. Sollux rolls his eyes and grabs his menu, and in an instant, Eridan’s fingers are on his own, picking up his hand and drawing it closer to him to fiddle with the ring that Sollux has on.

          “You’re actually wearin’ it, wow,” he says, and the way he twines his fingers in Sollux’s makes their rings gleam in the orange candlelight. Sollux is thankful that the light emenating colours everything with a flickering orange glow, because it covers up the yellow flush of his face- he does not have a cute blush; when Sollux blushes, his whole face gets yellow and blotchy like there’s a fungus on his skin. “Well, what I was goin’ to ask is, uh,”

          “Oh my fucking god, _what_?”

          “Well, see, me an’ Fef have a strict cuddlin’ schedule, an’, uh- I haven’t been cuddled all night.”

          “Are you fucking serious? _That’s_ what you wanted to ask?”

          “Look, if you’re gonna be my fake moirail, you gotta get on top a’ the cuddle routine.”

          “I don’t cuddle.”

          “You do now.”

          “Do I look like a snuggly person to you?”

          “You look like someone who’s in dire need of a good snuggle, yeah.”

          Sollux shakes his head and turns back to his menu, surveying the options. There are plenty of high class foods—steaks and veals, even fish, and none of them seem to have any restrictions. “Do you think they’ll serve me a steak?” he asks.

          Eridan thumbs through the drink menu. “They’d damn well better serve my fake-moirail steak,” he mutters, and slides the drink menu over to Sollux. “Have you even had a drink since comin’ of age?”

          Sollux reaches up to touch at the scars on his face. They’re dim and shallow indents now, but they’re visible still, and he slides the drink menu out of the sea dweller’s reach. “No fucking way am I letting you near that menu, I’m like a tiny bridge troll, demanding answers to riddles before letting you cross.”

         Eridan snatches the menu back up and peeks out from behind it. “Just one?”

         

          They end up getting more than just one. In fact, after Sollux plows through his steak and almost pukes from trying a Paralyzer (milk? What the fuck?), there’s a small town of cups in front of them. Eridan is a machine, tipping back drink after drink, and even though he mutters things like ‘take it easy, asshole’, and ‘you’re such a fucking mess’, Eridan starts getting flushed and giddy and Sollux starts feeling deliriously happy and fuzzy inside, and it’s impossible to stop him when he’s looking so blissful.

          Sollux, being slightly more sober, though still unable to say a sentence properly, decides to cut them both off and get back to Eridan’s quarters, but as soon as he tries to stand, he flops back down into the leather seat. Eridan starts cracking up, fishing through his empty cups to chew on the ice, and dropping a single cube down Sollux’s shirt and laughing even harder as Sollux curses and tangoes to get it out before it melts cold wet patches in his shirt.

          There are tears in Eridan’s eyes that he has to wipe away, still laughing and clutching at his stomach when he says, “You’re great—you’re so great, I love you, so, so much.”

          It’s almost like there’s a pile of kittens on Sollux’s brain, because the best response that he comes up with is, “Oh, I fucking love you, too,” and he wraps his arms around Eridan, hoisting them both up to stagger up the stairs.

          “Sleep over,” Eridan says, grinning. “Get’chr jimmy-jams an’ we can read troll Cosmo an’ I’ll paint y’r nails an’ do y’r hair an’ play more HIPS, an’, an’…” His eyes light up. “An’ we can _cuddle_.”

          Sleep and cuddling seems like an outstanding idea to intoxicated Sollux, as he’s getting more and more tired. “Mmnm, too tired.” he mumbles, and starts leading them towards the slave and moirail bunkers where his backpack is. “Cuddle n’ sleep.”

          Eridan shuffles his feet and gives an exuberant thumbs up. “Ay number fuckin’ one, you… you fuckin’ charmer.”

          They trip on the smaller flight of stairs and fall all over each other, ending up with Eridan completely on top of his drunk friend. He doesn’t move, but he cracks up again, nuzzling the space between Sollux’s jaw and collarbone. “No,” he slurs to himself, and slaps his own wrist. “No snugglin’ in the lobby.”

          “We are so fucked up,” Sollux says, getting them back into their co-dependant walking stance. “I’m going to snuggle you so hard, the pillows are going to be so fucking jealous.”

          They burst into the bunker just as elegantly as they speak, largely by banging themselves into the door a flailing their hands at the handle until it opens, and the four slaves playing cards on the floor quiet for Prince Ampora.

          The two boys look at each other, deadpan for a moment, before raising a finger to their lips at the exact same time and giggling madly. Sollux breaks from his side to grab his backpack, and Eridan sneaks up behind him to rub his nose in the back of his neck. “Move in with me,” he says, a bit too loudly. “We can be illegitimate matesprits, fuckin’ romantic, livin’ in the captain’s quar-quar… quarbles.”

          Sollux swings his backpack around his shoulders and sweeps Eridan off of his feet into his arms at almost the same time. “As you wish, my Prince fucking Bride,” he slurs, and gives him a sloppy French kiss on the forehead.

          His arms get tired by the time he stumbles out of the room, and they have to swap positions, but Eridan starts to get really into it, reciting what might be a monologue from a movie about eternal love and twirling around in a sad rendition of a circle.

          When they get inside Eridan’s quarters and kick the door shut, Eridan hurls Sollux onto his berth, which is significantly nicer, larger, and comfier than the slab that Sollux got, and jumps on top of him, unbuttoning both of their shirts and tucking his head into Sollux’s bare chest, wrapping his cape around them both to tie them closer and twining their legs together.

          It is not the kind of snuggling that Eridan and Feferi do.

          After a moment, the only communication that the two have is through various ‘mmns’ and ‘MMNs’, and they writhe around like a psychotic snake until chance brings them under the covers, surrounded in pillows and each other, shirtless and sockless, working on kicking off their jeans.

          “Mmn, sleep tight,” Sollux yawns, throwing his jeans across the room and using his psionics to shut the blinds and hit the light. Sleeping on a berth is a strange feeling, much softer than sopor but not as cozy, but the pillows are to die for and the blankets are nicer, and holy fuck, Eridan’s body is cool and velvety-skinned and amazing in his hands, and pressing his forehead against any part of the sea dweller stills the murmur of voices in his head and he slips into a doze easier than he’s ever done before.

          “Sleep tight,” Eridan says, and tilts his head up to deliver a long and full kiss to Sollux’s lips, and falls asleep with their lips still touching.

         

          Sollux wakes up with one of the worst headaches he’s ever had, which is monumental considering he’s the troll that nurses migraines more often than he showers. But his headache is unaccompanied by any voices whatsoever—there is not a single noise in the back of his brain, save for the sound of an anvil hitting a boulder over and over.

          There are no doomed souls nearby, his foggy brain figures out, that drifting through nowhere means that nobody can reach him, so he gets peace, finally.

          Until he feels Eridan stir next to him. It’s only halfway through the day; they hadn’t even twitched during their sleep, still with each other’s legs between their own and their arms clutching the other’s body like they can’t get close enough, and Sollux’s lips are both sticky with dehydration and wet with drool, but they’re sandwiching Eridan’s top lip and slick with the sea dweller’s spit, which should disgust him, but he closes his lips to give a gentle suck, and the response is instantaneous, and Sollux feels his own lips starting to get toyed with, feels Eridan’s tongue running along his bottom lip and up into his mouth, flicking at the split of Sollux’s tongue with evident curiosity. Sollux rolls his tongue into Eridan’s mouth, tasting the bitter aftertaste of alcohol and flavoured syrup, tasting dry spit and a bit of blood where he chews the inside of his mouth.

          Maybe it’s because he’s still fairly drunk, but Sollux is certain that he’s ready to die. If his life is a game, then surely he’s won every prize and more, because Eridan isn’t a prize; he’s Eridan, and he hasn’t been won, he’s been earned, he’s been convinced that Sollux isn’t worthless garbage, perhaps deceitfully, and now he’s kissing him and Sollux could die right then and there and everything would be amazing and bright and white like big fluffy clouds sailing him into an afterlife where he can live this moment again and again, a heaven where he feels nothing but cool flesh on his own and tastes himself and Eridan all muddled together, where there’s soft hair and flecks of crumbled gel between his fingers, the lingering scent of hair gel and- yes, it’s always there- that tropical sea salt smell on Eridan’s horns that drives Sollux crazy, and where his head is quiet except for Eridan’s inhales and exhales.

         

          He wakes up during the time that would be night, if they weren’t hurtling through space, 8:00 sharp, to the pounding in his head. Almost all of his flesh is still touching Eridan’s to some extent, and he’s getting slightly cold from being pressed against the sea dweller, but his heart is warm enough to fill his whole body with a thrilling heat.

          His hand is petting Eridan’s hair on its own volition, weaving fingers through the tangled strands and feeling them slide through his grip, and he’s the happiest troll in the universe at that moment, the moment right before he realizes that _oh shit_ , he should not have his crotch pressed against Eridan at this particular time.

          He figures that he’ll just wait it out—Eridan is asleep and blissfully ignorant of the bulge poking his stomach, but those intentions get completely shattered when there’s a knock on the door, followed by the blaring ring of the doorbell.

          Eridan’s legs move first, sliding in between his friend’s, kicking off the blankets as he lets out an irate groan, tensing his muscles to get up but muttering, “Fuck that,” and burying his face in the space above Sollux’s collarbone. He then makes a quick move to throw the sheets over his ribs, giving Sollux only a brief glimpse at a mottled and lumpy expanse of white scar tissue and grown over gills.

          The doorbell rings twice in rapid succession, and the knocking on the door is urgent.

          “Fuck off,” Eridan grumbles, squashing a pillow over his head. “Fuckin’ tired as shit on this fuckin’ piece a’ shit fuckin’ soporless sponge slab, an’ my fuckin’ head’s about to fuckin’ expl-“ Eridan freezes once he finally clues into his surroundings. He jerks his body away, and it feels like Sollux is being ripped in half from the wave of air that hits his now-exposed chest. “W-what did we do yesterday?”

          Sollux squints through the throbbing in his head, trying to recall. When he finally does put all the events in order, dinner, drinks, snuggling, snuggling, snuggling, kissing, snuggling, kissing, he feels a wave of assurance come over him and tugs Eridan back to his chest and kisses him on the forehead. “You proposed that I get up to speed with your ‘snuggling schedule’. And, as the best fake moirail, I did, you invited me over, and we made out a little.”

          The doorbell rings again.

          Eridan snickers a bit, relaxing his body and putting a kiss on Sollux’s shoulder. “I hardly remember anythin’, jog my memory a bit.”

          “Could you be any more transparent?” Sollux says with a little grin that flashes his first set of fangs. His heart is pushing blood at a thousand miles an hour when he cups Eridan’s chin and tilts his face up so their lips can touch, and Eridan might not be completely sober even after all that sleep, but Sollux is, and he’s determined to remember this kiss with absolute clarity.

          It’s everything that he’s been wanting for sweeps. He hardly has to part his lips before Eridan is eagerly returning his every action, twining their tongues together and playing with the forked tip of Sollux’s, mumbling a few nonsense sounds.

          The doorbell rings again, and there’s a metal on metal sound.

          Eridan breaks off fast enough to make a droplet of spit fly out from between their wet lips, jumping up out of the bed to make a mad grab for his cape, which he immediately wraps around himself to cover the scars on his side while he fumbles for a shirt.

          By the time Sollux realizes that somebody has unlocked the door and waltzed inside, Eridan has scrambled into some clothes and thrown the blankets over Sollux’s face. He figures that he’s supposed to stay hidden, which he approves as a decent plan, so he listens to the muffled voices, trying to hide the rise and fall of his chest by taking tiny breaths.

          “Rise and shine, E-ri-dan!” somebody says. “We have to help get the helmsmen set up.”

          “Right now? Can’t a guy get some extra beauty sleep for once?”

          “Oh come on, you’re beautiful enough as it is.”

          “Maybe if you crawled into the ‘coon more, you wouldn’t be a vomit bath for the eyes.”

          “Maybe if you spent more time awake, you’d have time to dye your roots, my god.”

          Sollux’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t want to get jealous, he shouldn’t get jealous just because Eridan is having some stupid teasing banter with somebody who, for whatever reason, has a key into his room, but Sollux is green with possessiveness. He’s the only one who teases Eridan like that; he doesn’t need somebody else.

          “You’re the asshole who told me you were quote, ‘experienced in hair dyin’,’ and would ‘offer your prestigious services’.”

          “What, you want me to come over and dye your hair tonight, because I totally will and it will be the best hair dyin’ experience you’ll ever get.”

          “If my roots are so reprehensible that you can’t take another eyeful.”

          “I’m _teasin’_ you, your hair looks great and so do you. But okay, anyway, we’ve gotta do some serious stuff, come on.”

          “Gimme ten minutes.”

          “O- _kay_ , ten minutes is fi-“ the other voice drops. “What the fuck are you wearin’?”

          “This- ah, uh, it was just an accident a’—it’s my moirail’s shirt an’ I, uh—“

          “Oh my god, so you actually got a new moirail?”

          “Sorta, yeah.”

          “Well thank the fuckin’ troll pope for that, but you’re breakin’ like seven different laws wearin’ that gross thing. I promise I won’t tell _anybody_ , let’s just—“

          Sollux hears the shuffling of feet, followed by a shriek from Eridan that’s panicked enough that the overprotective side of Sollux takes over and throws the blankets off to see the other voice, the one that turns out to belong to the other sea dweller on the ship, the captain, trying to help Eridan out by taking his shirt off for him.

          In the moment before he sees Sollux, the other sea dweller jumps back with his palms facing out in front of his chest, and starts to say, “Sorry, didn’t mean to,” but he only gets halfway through before he sees Sollux, who is wearing his boxers and nothing else.

          The captain swallows hard and knits his brows. “I-is this, uh, your moirail?” he asks, and Eridan’s eyes flicker over to Sollux.

          “Uh, yeah,” Eridan says, and Sollux follows suit with a stuttered, “Uh-huh.”

          There is the longest awkward silence that Sollux has ever been a part of, even including ones with Equius, where everybody looks from the piles of clothes on the ground to the messed up bedsheets, to Eridan wearing Sollux’s shirt (looking stupidly hot—but Sollux will personally hunt down and kill whatever cruel god gave him his ridiculous sex drive if he starts to think any further), to the near-naked Sollux with hickeys on his neck that he hardly remembers getting, and the other sea dweller casts his eyes to the side and nods very slowly, saying, “Uh…huh. I’ll… see you in ten minutes, Eridan,” and turning to leave.


	11. Glass Planets and Helmsman Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly some warnings for violence in this chapter. I wouldn't classify it as gore, but it's fairly graphic.

 

          Eridan stumbles around trying to make himself presentable, combing some more gel through his hair and grabbing fresh clothes, stepping back into the ensuite to change his shirt.

          “You should go,” he mutters, voice suddenly cold and businesslike as he emerges, balling up Sollux’s clothes and tossing them at him. “We’ll talk about this later.”

          Sollux fumbles to catch his clothes and starts stuffing them back into his backpack, trying to rifle through for a clean one to put on in its place. “Is there anything to talk about?”

          Eridan piles his fingers up with rings, slamming his jewelry case shut when he’s clad in a pound of solid gold. “I _said_ we’ll talk about it later.”

          “Well fuck, what crawled up your ass and died, princess?”

          “Fuck off.”

          Sollux zips his bag up, about to leave, but he looks at the rumpled bedsheets and thinks about how twenty seconds ago, they were cuddling and kissing like matesprits, and the moment may have left as soon as the other sea dweller interrupted, but it’s going to die if lets it, so he sneaks up behind Eridan to put his hands on his waist and his head on his shoulder, kissing a line from earfin to collarbone.

          Eridan shivers and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, that’s what I was intendin’ to talk about. I think we’ll be in agreement that we were both hella intoxicated an’ roused with the moment, but we’ve gotta be fake moirails and shouldn’t complicate things more than they already are.”

 

          Sollux’s throat goes dry; he pulls back a bit until they aren’t touching anymore. “Right,” he croaks. “Right, that would be stupid.”

* * *

 

          Cerati is waiting right outside the door, twirling a keyring around his finger and grinding on the toe of his left boot with the heel of his right. They are, frankly, ugly boots, black lace up and leather with heavy soles made for trekking.

          “Nice shoes, glubbin’ grunt worker,” Eridan says upon exiting.

          “Yeah, yeah, talk to me when you’re slidin’ all across Glasshollow with your spiffy little sneakers.”

          Eridan snickers as they start walking towards the front of the ship. “What’s Glasshollow, a convention for a bunch a’ fuckin’ construction workers?”

          “It’s a really slippery planet that we’re goin’ to later.”

          Eridan relaxes as they begin to discuss the planet, and he realizes that he isn’t about to be questioned on why the fuck Sollux was in his bed wearing nothing but boxers and a pile of hickeys. Eridan isn’t even sure that he has the answers.

         

          The hallways to the front of the ship are covered in glossy hardwood floor and similarly treated walls, and they all point to a huge door clearly labelled by a big sign as, “CREW ONLY.”

          Behind the doors is a big round cockpit, with a lowered circle full of computers and machines that Eridan has read about. There are a half dozen trolls swarming around the machines, and a few coming and going from the doors lining the outer circle. Everything is cold metal and industrially hideous; the floor that Eridan is now standing on is a dirty riveted metal, and the rails wrapping around the outer portion are two horizontal steel bars twisted around the whole circle, with breaks for the periodic stairs.

          “Well look who finally decided to fucking show up!” The pilot yells from the computers, and Cerati flips him off.

          “Some of us shower in the mornin’s!” he yells back, and turns to Eridan, pointing down at the lowered circle. “There’s the control hub,” he raises his voice, “It’s usually full of morons!”

          “Fuck you, fishboy!”

          “That’s Captain Fishboy to you!”

          The stairs clang as they descend, moving closer to the computers where the pilot is tapping away. Next to him, a happy looking troll with half of her hair bleached to a dry and brittle white is writing out page after page of calculations, tapping at a calculator. “Three thousand nautical space miles until Glasshollow,” she says, not bothering to look up. “At 9:30 sharp, hook up the helmsman and put it to speed minus six, that will slow us down enough, and we’ll land at 10:30.”

          The pilot stops his typing. “10:30? That’s in… a little over an hour.”

          The happy troll shakes her head. “Wow, with calculations like that, why aren’t _you_ the engineer?”

          “Oh, ha-ha, very funny,” he takes a long sip from his water bottle and continues typing. Eridan cranes his neck to see what he’s doing- his screen shows a difficult to read map of their general area, and he’s recording the specs of all the close stars and sending them over to the biophysicist on the other side of the computers, who is saying things like, “Nah, you’re good to take the path through HJK-56 and HJK-70,” and, “Radiation from HJK-89 is strong, stay at least eight hundred NSM away.”

          Eridan is completely fascinated by their calculations, curious as to how they’re drawing such conclusions, and he really wants to stay and watch them work, but the engineer looks at the two sea dwellers and says, “Could you get the helmsman set up, guys?” and ushers over one of the trolls leaning against the rails that is flipping through a manual of some sort—she has it folded in half so that Eridan can’t see the front cover.

          She wears a labcoat over her black t-shirt, with a stethoscope dangling from her neck and short, wispy hair pinned back from her face. “Good to be meeting you, Prince Ampora,” she says when she comes over. “You getting to knowing much about helmsmen before?”

          Eridan has to think for a minute to figure out what she’s saying in her thick accent. He wonders where she was raised, because she speaks like Alternian isn’t her first language. “Not much, if I’m bein’ honest with you. Just the basics- I, uh, my temporary moirail’s a psionic.”

          “Captor?”

          Eridan’s heart skips a beat. “Wait, you know him?”

          The woman nods and brushes a few loose strands of hair back into the pins. “All helmsmechanic biologist has knowings over Sollux Captor. And I was seeing you being drunk together yesterday.”

          “That’s cute,” Cerati says, cutting in their conversations and starting to lead them to one of the doors on the upper circle. “Cloies never gets drunk with me anymore.”

         

          The helmsman room smells faintly smoky, and slightly of antiseptic. It looks more like a medical bay than a room on a ship, but there is a very strange contraption in the centre that Eridan has never seen before, not even in movies or books. As far as he’s aware, helmsmen get put to sleep and have their heads in a big hood that looks like a salon hair dryer, but, then again, that’s just movies. The contraption in the centre looks nothing like it; it looks like a bunch of tentacle-y wires waiting to be connected to something.

          The helmsmechanic hands the two sea dwellers cloth face masks, which they put on without a word, and only when they are secured does she open another door to usher the helmsman out and get him seated on the medical bed.

          “This is your first time, isn’t it?” Cerati asks, voice muffled from the mask. The helmsmechanic gives him an exasperated look, like he’s not supposed to be talking, but he’s the captain and she doesn't argue. “You don’t have the scars.”

          “Yeah, first time, yeah,” the helmsman says. “The other guy told me about the scars though, he told me, he told, ‘they’re sore for perigrees and they never go away’.”

          “She’s gonna cut your head in half, sweetheart. That’s why they’re so sore.”

          The helmsman’s eyes go wide. “W-what?!”

          “Well, you won’t be _awake_ , we aren’t tryin’ to torture you, now are we?”

          “I guess not, I guess.”

          Buzzing from an electric razor fills the room, and the helmsmechanic huffs and starts shearing the shiny hair of the helmsman until he’s perfectly bald. His face falls when he sees all of his hair spread out over the bed.

          “It’ll grow back,” Eridan mutters.

          The helmsmechanic starts measuring out anesthesia, laying him down and delivering an IV. “You’ll be falling asleep now,” she says to him, gently, and the helmsman jerks his body right before falling asleep, and says, “Promise me I’ll wake u…”

          Once he’s asleep, she pulls out a drill—an honest to god power drill with a slender and needlelike tip, and bores holes through his horns right down to his skull. Eridan cringes as she does so, certain that he’s about to see a torrent of mustard blood erupt from his head, but the holes that she drills are perfect and precise. She then takes a scalpel and cuts curved lines in the shape of the Condesce’s tiara into the very top of his forehead until the skin can slide up—Eridan looks away—and slips a magnetic strip under his skin.

          Eridan is content to watch and not ask questions for the time being, even when she applies a tourniquet to both of the helmsman’s arms and pushes sharp glass tubes into his wrists. Eridan shudders and squints as they syphon blood and squirt some out the other side before the helmsmechanic plugs them and pushes them deeper until they’re fully buried inside his forearm. She does the same to the arteries inside his inner thighs, and then uses pins and sticks them right in the side of his eyes. Eridan winces hard, eyes watering at the sight.

          “Okay, let’s get taking him to the helm.”

          “Eridan, you can just sit tight and watch, okay?”

          And he doesn’t argue. Cerati and the helmsmechanic grab the helmsman off the bed and carry him over to the tentacle-wire things, setting his limp body down so he’s kneeling with his arms up in the air.

         “Eridan, could you flip that yellow switch over there?” Cerati asks, and Eridan does, getting close to the wire contraption and seeing all the ends of the wires light up with a ball of energy at the tip as he flips the switch. Some of the thinner wires start to sway, and the thinnest of the wires actually move around as if searching for something.

         Cerati holds onto the helmsman’s torso as the helmsmechanic pulls retractable straps down from the base of the wires to clamp onto his waist, chest, and neck, then pulls down two thin wires and feeds them through his horns. There’s a high-pitched snapping sound once they reach what could possibly be his brain, and the whole wire lights up and glows pink. The same thing repeats for each of the glass tubes that was put into his body, and they put more straps over his wrists and tape the wires flat against his body so they don’t move.

         The next thing they do is pull down a feeding tube to stick down his throat, and a thin stream of what Eridan can recognize as mind honey pulses out. His eyes immediately flare with yellow psionics, and Eridan wonders if Sollux’s red and blue means that he’s special. He hopes so.

          Instead of exploding and incinerating the whole ship, the yellow psionics get whisked away by the wires and up into the base, where they travel along to energize a mainframe and light it up with numbers and gauges.

          “There we go,” the helmsmechanic says, patting her hands together. “Perfect.”

 

          Eridan looks down at the helmsman. He’s completely asleep, but he’s on his knees, bound and bleeding and drooling, and the way he looks so helpless with his body completely at the mercy of whoever’s nearby leaves a feeling in Eridan’s stomach that doesn’t sit well, but he pushes it aside and watches the two fiddle with some dials on the control screen until Cerati pats him on the back and leads them back out of the cockpit, way over to the kitchens where they grab something to eat while waiting for the ship to land on Glasshollow.

 

 

          Glasshollow lives up to its name, being smooth and glassy, with rises like foot hills and dips like giant bottles embedded in the surface. There are motionless grey clouds curling in the sky that leave a fine, hazy mist over the land that make it hard to see very far, blanketing the planet in a shadowy fog. Eridan, Cerati, and the pilot are the only three trolls that exit the ship into the huge expanse of glossy ground. Eridan is wearing his favorite shoes- the teal and purple kicks that he bought in three different sizes during the sweeps where he was still growing- but they have poor grip and slide as he takes the first few steps out, and the other sea dweller grabs onto his forearm.

          “Warned you about the shoes. But if you fall into any of these pits, you’re done, okay? Just be careful.” his voice wavers slightly, and seems to be filled with a genuine concern, which Eridan doesn’t miss. The planet is silent as all can be, with thick and moist air, and as the sea dwellers cling onto each other to avoid plummeting down the deep holes in the ground, the pilot trails behind them a few paces.

          “Right, so what are we doin’ here? Spelunkin’ or what?”

          Cerati urges him forward a few paces until they’re at the face of a huge milky glass wall with archways mechanically cut from it, leading them through, taking slow and precautious steps to avoid the potholes and tunnels. “Enforturin’. They didn’t meet their quota.”

          Eridan is about to ask who didn’t meet their quota, because the planet is deadly silent except for the echos of their own voices, but when they step through the wall, far off cranes and trucks come into view. As they draw closer, it becomes apparent that everything is distinctly Alternian, branded with the characteristic culling fork, and there are tiny specs of motion off in the horizon.

          They pass a deep pit, dark and vomiting up flies and the most putrid scent that Eridan has ever smelt- like a hundred years of stagnant piss rotting away, and he chokes out a gag whose sound gets engulfed by the buzzing of flies. Eridan squints his eyes until nothing is visible but a murky light, trying to pretend that he’s in Sollux’s old hivestem, but the flies are angry and giving off desperate drones as their wings tire and they fall back into the pit, and they sound nothing like the pleasant hums of mindhoney bees. Sollux’s hive never smelt good- obviously, it lacked the rustic wood and sea spray scent that Eridan’s did, it smelt kind of like sweat, but, once the overpowering sticky-sweet smell of honey passed, like melted plastic and something uniquely psionic, something like inhaling the ghosts that fire and electricity leave behind when they fizzle out. It never smelt like moribund sewage, and it never made Eridan want to be sick, even though he often teased that it did.

          The air is thick enough that the smell goes away only a few paces later, only to be replaced by one that’s a thousand times worse and Eridan doesn’t even want to think about what it could be and he starts retching, certain that he’s about to vomit on the spot, and wonders if there’s a pit for that, too.

          Cerati gives a stifled sort of nervous laugh and speeds up his pace. “Hope you used the toilet before you came,” he says.

          It’s many more minutes of walking before they reach the working trolls, wherein Cerati briefs him on a few things, that they harvest a very important glass-like material, but they’re fucking rustbloods and Alternia isn’t going to spend much on their amenities. Hence the festering pits of defecation.

          “You want me in on this?” the pilot asks, catching up, and Cerati gnashes his teeth together, wiggling them back and forth from where they fit together.

          “It’s probably best I do it myself.”

          The pilot cocks his head to the side and gives him a look like a concerned lusus. “You _sure_ you can handle it?”

          “Just make sure Eridan’s okay.”

          Eridan doesn’t try asking what they’re talking about, but he assumes that he’ll find out in due time.

          When they get into the general proximity of the Rusts, they take their guns out, Eridan with his rifle, as always, Cerati with a machine gun of some sort, and the pilot with a pistol. The Rusts immediately drop what they’re doing when they see the two sea dwellers and start to line up, just like all the new adults had during the assessments. It takes about a minute for them to all sprint from their stations, and in that time, the pilot whispered things like, “Back straight,”, “if you have to yawn, make sure you show your fangs,”, and “arms crossed or hand on your gun.” to Eridan, who fumbled to hold the worn grip of Ahab’s Crosshairs in his palm.

 

          “Alright, you fuckin’ indolent, gutter-pumpin’, land-mongerin’ filth,” Cerati snarls, and in an instant, he flips from being the well-humoured brat that Eridan talks about hair care with to being absolutely terrifying, and Eridan swears that he doubles in size just from the way he’s sneering, and his coat no longer looks like a showy fashion statement, but one that belongs to a proper sea dweller. Cerati fires off a few shots into the sky, and the rest of the Rusts that are further away sprint over to the line.

          They look faceless; they look as though their presence has been sucked away and drained into the glass pits, leaving them nothing but empty husks. Almost all of them have heavy bags under their eyes and skullish cheeks, and look malnourished- not underfed per se, but their skin is dull, their hair looks brittle and their horns are faded and near grey.

          “Get down, all of you, get down,” Cerati takes a step forward to the troll immediately in front of him, taking a fistful of his hair and throwing him down on the ground. The Rust lets himself fall limply with a screech, banging his head against the hard ground hard enough to leave a crack that gets coated in ugly coloured blood instantly. “Do we have to spell this out for you?”

          Small sounds of rustling fabric permeate the air as the rest of the rustbloods sink to their knees, foreheads pressed to the ground, as if they’re trying to meld with the glass. “Of course we do, because you don’t have the cranial capacity to understand such simple concepts as: do your fuckin’ jobs, get the stuff on time, and meet your fuckin’ quotas.” His voice drops to less than a whisper and he asks Eridan to turn around. Eridan does as he’s told, with a hunch that the foggy glass expanse is going to be a far prettier sight than the line of kneeling rustbloods.

          And it isn’t that Eridan doesn’t like seeing rustbloods kneel in his presence, he does, he adores it, but their faces are making him feel sick to his stomach- not a repulsed sick either, it’s a gnawing at the back of his throat that feels like bile is churning up his system. He blames the pits.

          “Who wants to explain to us exactly why you failed to meet your quota?” There’s silence for a moment, then another shot fired into the air. More silence, then a shot, which Eridan first thinks is into the air, but there’s a wheezing scream at almost the same time that echoes through the thick air, refusing to let go. It sounds like wet fingers over candlelight, dripping onto the flame and making it sputter and crack, and it’s followed by a wet splatter. 

          Eridan can still hear drips of blood falling from the wounded rustblood, and wonders if she’s dead or not. She makes no sound, aside from the echoes of her scream ringing in Eridan’s ears, and he’s heard the screams before, he’s seen many lowbloods die, some of which amused him greatly during his and Vriska’s FLARP campaigns. But he’s…

          He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him instead of entertaining him. He doesn’t know why he’s not drinking in the power of being at the top of the food chain, and is, instead, feeling the quiver of dancing nerves in his palms and the hard twist of his intestines. 

          “You.”

          Eridan has never believed in anything like collective consciousness, but he swears that he can feel the way one of the Rust’s blood starts running cold as they get singled out. Echoing footsteps with boots that can only be Cerati’s reach Eridan’s ears, and he hears the rustling of the dead troll’s body, followed by a squelching crunch that Eridan doesn’t want to know the source of, followed by a tense laugh.

          “My god, you look absolutely famished; go on. A little protein’ll do you good.” Even though he’s not looking, Eridan squeezes his eyes shut. “Go on.”

          There’s another series of repulsive crunchings that Eridan is reasonably certain is the Rust’s teeth grinding through bone, probably a finger, and the squelching sound is the blood being squeezed from the meat.

          A minute of silence passes, with nothing but the shaky swallowing sounds and crunching through bone to keep Eridan company. “Ready to tell us why you failed?”

          It takes the Rust a few starts to make sound come from his mouth, and when he does talk, his words are smoke, fading away to nothing, trying to disappear into the air before they can reach earfins. “W-w-w-e just… w-w-we can-can’t.”

          “And have you ever been able to?”

          “Y-yes, but-“

          “Step forward.”

          More rustling ensues, and then, a slap that hits skin so hard that it’s louder than the gunshots followed by a chilling scream, and Eridan cringes. Cerati gives a curt, “Hands behind your back,” and more of the same deafening slaps ring off, bringing with them cries and sobs of pain.

          There’s a sound of a kick to the Rust’s stomach, and a wheeze of air as he crashes to the ground again, this time cracking the glass where his knees connect. The pilot lets out a snigger, and whispers for Eridan to turn back around.

          He doesn’t want to turn around, not at all, he wants to bask in the comfort of his closed eyes, but he does as he’s told, and gets an eyeful of first the dead troll- with an oozing stump where her ring finger was clipped off, eyes as glassy as the planet, hair matted with blood, and secondly, Eridan sees the troll that Cerati decided to single out, namely that his face is swollen and covered in gashes and there are red tears pouring from his eyes.

          The sea dweller starts at the end of the line, seizing a slave by the horns and hair and giving her a hard lash straight across the face with a short leather strap that he must have taken with him. As soon as the lash connects, it splits her skin and pours out blood. Eridan doesn’t know why, but when Cerati grips her horns tighter and digs into them with his claws, she clenches her fists and goes stiff, and her shrieks come out differently. As he goes down the line, Eridan notices that all of them do, and some of them make noises that aren’t as pained as he expects. Cerati utters a few slurs for each troll that he goes through, mostly the textbook “gutterblood,” but he calls some of them “wine-panned,” or “’roonies,” terms that Eridan’s heard, but never used, because he’s scared that Aradia’s ghost will come up and strangle him for using a term so insulting. 

          It seems to be random, the number of slaps that each slave gets, sometimes it’s one, sometimes it’s ten. Lots of them struggle, and scream and thrash trying to get away from the lash and the pilot comes over to lock them in a hold, but none of them try to run away. All the slaves are shaking to some extent, on their knees and bleeding out burgundy sludge from their now-mutilated faces, some crying quietly, but no others make attempts to console them. They all stay rigid and alert. The slaves that have yet to be whipped are shaking even worse, some of them gazing up at the hazy clouds of the planet and praying with trembling lips, until there’s only one left, and Cerati ushers Eridan over.

          “Here, I’ll show you how to do it,” he says, placing the strap in Eridan’s palm. Cerati’s hand is cold and clammy, and the handle of the strap is damp with sweat. A few drops of burgundy run down the leather and onto Eridan’s shoes, leaving red splotches that start to soak into the leather. “You gonna clean that off?” Cerati asks, and when Eridan moves to wipe the blood off, the other sea dweller shakes his head and nods towards the nearest Rust. “Hey, I was talkin’ to you!”

          Eridan’s eyes flitter away as the Rust drags himself, on his knees, over to Eridan’s shoes and stoops his head down to lap and suck the blood off. The Rust gets more blood from his dripping face on his shoes, though, and they’re Eridan’s favorite shoes- they’re teal and purple and he’s had them for a long time, and now they remind him of Terezi, and they’re going to be fucking ruined from a kneeling slave letting the slop of his blood paint them that reprehensible colour-

          His first instinct is to call Fef and get her to stop his blood from boiling over and his vision from going red- his favorite fucking pair of shoes, ruined by a fucking slave, _call Fef, you’re getting fired up_ , but Fef isn’t here, her videos aren’t even here, Sollux isn’t even here, and his shoes are getting redder and uglier.

          To say that he kicks the slave in the jaw would be an understatement; Eridan nails him so hard in the chin that the slave bites down on his tongue and nips the tip off, and topples over on his back, conveniently placed for Eridan to start stomping on his face until he feels the bones crack under his ruined shoes, so that the Rust is going to look in the mirror every morning at his disfigured face and indented nose, ruing the day he dared desecrate anything belonging to Prince Eridan Ampora with his sewer blood.

          “Ruin my shoes, ruin my fuckin’ shoes, you worthless gutter filth,” he hisses, trying to stay calm and, above all, trying to stop smashing the Rust’s face because he’s done enough damage, it feels like pudding under his feet, but he keeps stomping and stomping and can’t seem to stop.

          A tap on Eridan’s wrist reminds him that he has the strap in his palm, and he ceases his stomping to deliver a blow across the last Rust in the line, kneading his claws in her horn to get leverage to give another blow, and screams tear from her lungs loud enough to echo across the whole planet, but the crack of the strap is like poetry from the dark vents of the sea, speaking to Eridan in echoing whispers about who he is, and he gains a momentum, beating the lowblood over and over until there isn’t an inch of her face that isn’t covered in welts and her screams go silent because there’s nothing left in her lungs to give.

          He doesn’t stop until Cerati snatches the strap out of his hand and the pilot puts a hand on his shoulder, and he’s being led away back to the ship. Cerati shouts out a full speech that Eridan is too dazed to hear, stumbling around the potholes. He’d be plummeting to his death if not for the pilot guiding him.

          Eridan is not quite conscious of his actions until the three reach the mouth of the ship, pausing before boarding. There’s a slight jingling of metal, which Eridan realizes is his rings clanging together from his trembling, but even when he curls his fists to hide it, it persists, and before he can see the other sea dweller shaking, he’s being locked up in a crushing hug.

          “You did great,” Cerati says to him, but it’s in a tone that one would say the exact opposite statement. “I know, I know it’s hard, let’s get you your moirail, okay?”

          Air isn’t entering Eridan’s lungs properly, so he shakes his head instead.

          “Eridan.”

          “I can’t tell him,” Eridan says in a voice that is hardly even a whisper. “I fucked up- I fucked up- again, an’—and he’s goin’ to be s-so disappointed in me- I know it.”

          “Eridan, Eridan, it’ll be okay,” Cerati says to him, grabbing the other’s face in his palms and looking him in the eye. He’s trying to be soothing and supportive, Eridan can tell, but he’s not Feferi and he’s not Sollux and he’s not helping.

          In only a minute, the ship opens up and all that consumes Eridan’s ears is a very, very concerned voice that says, “Eridan, are you okay?” and in a second, Sollux’s hand is on his shoulder and he’s looking his friend-slash-fake-moirail in the eyes, seeing his brows knit in worry, doubly so when Sollux gets a glimpse at the burgundy blood splattered all up Eridan’s left pant leg.

          Eridan is hardly even angry; he’s frustrated and tired and scared and dazed, and he bursts into tears only a second before Sollux grabs him and takes him to his chest, rubbing his head and back, shushing him gently in that low and nasal voice of his that Eridan is starting to think of as home.

          “Do you need Feferi?” he whispers, and Eridan shakes his head and tightens his arms around Sollux’s torso. His body is like being around a fireplace, warm and radiating and spreading all through Eridan, and Eridan can feel the ruts in his ribcage on his chest, but he’s cozy in a strange way that reminds Eridan of holding a hot mug of tea. “Do you need to, uh, talk about it? Um, have a feelings jam or whatever?”

          “I want-- to go-- home,” Eridan sobs. “Be alone. With you. Alone-- with you.”

          The way Sollux nods and tells him that it’s okay, they’ll go somewhere they can be alone together is so strikingly compassionate that Eridan can hardly recognize the words as Sollux’s, but he’s being hoisted up to his feet and guided back onto the ship and into his quarters, and he’s only partially aware of himself.

          His quarters are still a mess, and his bedsheets are still slightly crusty from their drool when Sollux gently lowers Eridan onto them, stroking his hair to tuck strands behind his ears.

          “Shh, it’s okay, Eridan. Everything is going to be okay.”

          But there’s burgundy blood smearing from his shoes onto the bed and that fucking slave is tainting things again, that fucking slave is following him into his quarters and there’s blood on his hands and all up his arms from the strap and it’s getting on Sollux, and they’re not burgundy sludge, they shouldn’t have burgundy sludge on them, get it off, get it off, fucking _get it off_ , and Eridan’s heartbeat starts hammering in his chest as he pushes Sollux off of himself to kick his shoes off and strip his pants off, fumbling into his en suite and filling the bathtub with water while Sollux grabs at him from behind, trying to coax his hands off the taps without being forceful, like he’s scared that Eridan is going to turn around and beat him if he makes one wrong move, and that fucking hurts, because he did, he could and he would.

          “I don’t—want—to hurt you, never, ever,” Eridan chokes, trembling as he forces his clothes and shoes into the tub. “I just—I need to be clean.” Burgundy blossoms out of the fabric and off of Eridan’s hands, and Sollux’s hands move to rub up the sides of his face, and Eridan feels the back of his neck being kissed over and over, but he said to stop, he told that insolent fucking pissblood to stop muddling up pale and red when he needs pale so bad- _fuck, it’s Sollux, don’t call him a pissblood_ \- but Sollux keeps rubbing and kissing and shushing an it’s… it’s…

          …really nice. Sollux migrates his hands to rub Eridan’s neck, moving his kisses to his jaw, then dips his cupped hands into the warm water to wash the splatters of blood from Eridan’s hands and face as his breathing starts to regulate and his muscles relax, sitting in Sollux’s lap on the edge of the bathtub with his feet dipping into the warm water, letting it cleanse his skin.

          But the water isn’t clean.

          And in a second, Eridan is right back to where he started, shivering and scratching up his arms to try and knock all the crawling bacteria and fungi that fester in gutterblood sewage off of himself because oh god, what if they infect him and make him impure and fill him with microbes and germs? What if it dries on him and tattoos rust into his skin that he’ll never be able to scrub off? But Sollux keeps splashing filthy infected water onto his forearms, trying to pry Eridan’s arms apart to stop scratching themselves, still shushing and kissing.

          “Sollux,” he whimpers, thrashing and bumping Sollux’s ankle into the tap, making him hiss in pain. “Sollux, _stop_ —it’s dirty, it’s dirty, _get off me_ -!”

          It’s all over him. The water is red with blood, his arms are red with the water, and now, Sollux is nursing a trickling yellow wound that’s every bit as filthy and polluted as the rust, and Eridan shoves his foul body off himself and stumbles over to the sink to douse his arms and face in cold tap water, scrubbing down with soap and digging into his flesh with his claws until beautiful and rich violet starts to flourish from the scratches in his wrists, and he laps at his blood between scratches, he smears it on his face like pure and holy water baptising him and cleansing him of plague, and even when Sollux grabs him around the waist and screams, “What are you doing, Eridan, _stop it,_ what the fuck are you doing?!” and it hurts so badly and there’s chunks of skin under his nails, he keeps scratching as hard as he can to try and cover himself in royal violet. The crack of psionics is the only thing that stops him, wrenching his arms apart and up like the helmsman was, he’s like the helmsman, oh god, he’s got wires in his eyes and- and Sollux’s lips on his own, seeing Sollux trembling with tears stinging in his eyes, whispering, “I don’t know what the fuck to _do_ , Eridan, please stop hurting yourself, I…”

          Eridan chokes on his own inhales, breaking from the psionics and curling his fingers into the wounds he’s created deep enough that they squirt out blood and make him scream in pain until Sollux winds up and crackles his psionics harder to slam him to the ground with his limbs spread out, bleeding violet pools onto the floor, and when Sollux throws his body on top of Eridan’s to hold him down and put pressure on his bleeding wrists, Eridan sees his eyes completely drowning in tears, so much that his lip is trembling and his chest is heaving, and Sollux curls his fists into Eridan’s shirt sobbing, “Eridan, please, I love you, I love you, please stop,” and Eridan’s done it again, he’s hurt Sollux and Sollux means everything to him and he’s fucked up so much, he's fucked up again, he’s made the only boy that he’s ever slept beside cry, and it makes him want to tear his heart out.

          He thrashes at the energy holding him down, struggling and making pained noises way in the back of his throat, and Sollux rolls off of him to take shampoo from the bathtub’s edge and pour it all up Eridan’s bare and red-tinted legs, shushing him and rubbing a soapy hand all up and down, squishing some between his toes and working the soles of his feet with his thumbs. “Shh, I’ll get you clean, okay?” and when Eridan doesn’t respond, he repeats himself with more firmness. “Okay?”

          “Nngh.”

          Sollux brings clean tap water over in his cupped hands to dump over Eridan and lather up the shampoo, and he skips over Eridan’s clothed chest to wash off his face and press two hand towels against his wounds to soak up the blood, and when his hair starts getting stroked and petted, the psionics start feeling less like restraints and more like a blanket wrapped all around him.

          “I love you,” Sollux whispers once Eridan relaxes underneath him, bringing his breathing down to a normal rate and seeing the red-tinted water as nothing more than used bathwater.

         

          They splash some cold water on their faces, and once their heartbeats regulate and they can form coherent sentences that aren’t tangled up in fervency, Sollux pulls the medi-kit out from under the sink and hoists Eridan up onto the counter.

          “What? This medi-kit is missing a naughty nurse costume. How am I supposed to get you nursed to perfect health now?”

          Eridan rubs his toes against the top of his other foot. “Could you maybe take your pants off anyway so I don’t feel like a unique case of a pantless hooligan?”

          Sollux rolls his eyes, but strips his jeans off. “Naughty enough for you?”

          “Your boxers have math equations on them.”

          “I know, it doesn’t get much fucking naughtier than this—I’ll have you know that I used these to cheat on tests.”

          “The quadratic formula is on your left buttcheek, Sol.”

          Sollux douses a cloth in rubbing alcohol. “Focus on the knowledge ingrained in my buttcheeks then, ‘cause this is going to sting. Wrists out.”

          Eridan whimpers when Sollux touches the cloth to his bleeding wrists, patting down ever so gently and following up by winding gauze tightly around the wounds and then stooping to place kisses all over where the bandages are.

          “Is that how naughty nurses make things better, by kissin’ them?”

          “Yes. There’s a formula for it somewhere on my ass.”

          “I’m comin’ down off a’ the counter, Sol, help me, my legs feel like fuckin’ noodles.”

          Sollux scoops Eridan up before he can try to jump down, using the last of his strength to carry them back over to the bed, then realizing that there’s red blood smeared on the sheets, and taking them to the couch instead, where they sit side by side and don’t say a word.

          And when Eridan puts his head on Sollux’s shoulder, a hopelessness rolls through him, because it makes him happy, it makes him so, so happy to have his head resting on Sollux’s shoulder in a comfortable silence, and it brings him up to the clouds of heaven when Sollux tips his head in turn, and he wants to stay with him forever.

          When he sits like this with Feferi, he can hear her heart beating to the same drum, a slow melodic thumping that’s like waves on the shore on the stillest day of the sweep, but he can feel Sollux’s heartbeat going so fast that it beats three times in the time it takes for one of Eridan’s, and that’s just how it is- their hearts won’t beat together, they won’t line up, and Eridan is used to looking around the world for signs and omens that give him glimpses into the path that fate wants for him, and nothing screams "you aren't meant to be together" louder than an audible reminder of how their hearts are intrinsically different.

          Eridan doesn't try to battle with fate- nobody does, or at least, nobody that wants a shot at winning, and knows that he’s doing something cosmically unnatural when he squirms to move onto Sollux’s lap and give him a neat and tender kiss on the lips, and he can almost feel the stars being knocked out of alignment when he whispers a belated, “I love you too.”

          


	12. Communal Showers and Lovewave Raisin Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient with me while I cranked this chapter out! Schoolwork swamped me this month.

 

          Eridan gets a message on his phone from the captain, asking him to go to the cockpit to fill out some paperwork soon after, though he’s drowsy and relaxed enough to toss his phone clear across the room in lazy protest. Sollux’s legs are more or less numb from having Eridan curled on his lap for the past half hour, and his wrist is sore from stroking his back over and over, but he’s riding a metaphorical unicorn through clouds, and he would probably be fine with his whole fucking body being numb, so long as his eyes could still drink in the image of a half-asleep sea dweller mumbling out increasingly delirious bits of commentary on the movie playing on the TV.

          “Fuckin’ don’t fuckin’ wanna fuckin’ go,” he mutters, and collapses his face back on Sollux’s chest, smushing strands of hair down into his eyes, until he cups his lips and sends a puff of air upwards to blow them back into place.

          Sollux weaves his hand into Eridan’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and getting a blissful, groggy murmur from him. “Then don’t.”

          “He’ll have my head if I don’t.”

          “Then go.”

          “Don’t wanna.”

          “Then don’t.”

          “Fuck off, you’re not bein’ very encouragin’.”

          He knows that it would be for best if he pushed Eridan off on himself and forced him to go out and get his work done, but Eridan feels so nice on his lap, head resting against his collarbone. Sollux doesn’t even know who the good guys in the movie are, since he’s been far too busy watching the rise and fall of Eridan’s chest, staring at the occasional twitch of his face fin every time there’s an explosion on screen.

          But when his phone vibrates with an on-ship message, Sollux finally gets the drive to shimmy out from underneath Eridan and grab his backpack. Eridan groans in protest, flopping against the couch like a dead fish and covering his head with a pillow. “I don’t _wa_ -nna,” he whines, and Sollux tosses him his own phone (after snapping the battery back in place), which displays the same memo.

 

The Captain of the ship [CAPTAIN] opened the log [CAPTAIN'S LOG]   
[CAPTAIN] made [CAPTAIN'S LOG] open to [GROUPING>>CREW] and [GROUPING>>MOIRAILS]   
[CAPTAIN] made [CAPTAIN'S LOG] closed to [GROUPING>>SLAVES], [GROUPING>>SOLDIERS] AND [GROUPING>>OTHER]

CAPTAIN: get ready 4 a.....   
CAPTAIN: STATUS REPORT!!    
CAPTAIN: we're leavin glasshollow now & r stoppin 2 take cavotter back next.   
PILOT: > itll take us about 5 days before we land   
CAPTAIN: yeah so u soldiers contact me b4 we land.   
PILOT: >> and let me know which direction i should come from   
CAPTAIN: u were comin in every direction a few minutes ago haha.   
PILOT: >>> !!!   
CAPTAIN: oops public memo 4got! ;)   
CPT'S <>: (O_O)    
CAPTAIN: don’t 4get we’re havin the ball 2morrow god fuckin damn how xcitin!   
CPT'S <>: (/O..O)/   
CPT'S <>: \\(O..O\\)   
MALE SLAVE SUPERVISOR: ALL YOU MOIR-AILS AND SL-AVES NEED TO B-E IN YOUR QUARTERS PL-EASE TO SET UP L-ATER   
CPT'S <>: \\(=..=)   
MALE SLAVE SUPERVISOR: I D-ON'T UNDERSTAND   
CAPTAIN: yes pale darlin u don't need permission 2 say n e thing.   
CAPTAIN: or were u troll seig heilin yikes.   
CPT'S <>: (^u^)   
CPT'S <>: \\(^*^)   
CAPTAIN: ...   
MALE SLAVE SUPERVISOR: WHAT'S -A TROLL S-EIG HE-IL?   
1ST MATE: its an obscure ancient military gesture i wwouldnt expect an uneducated troll such as yourself to familiarize himself wwith   
MALE SLAVE SUPERVISOR: -OH   
CAPTAIN: THE POINT IS THAT WE'RE GOIN 2 SEIGE THE FUCK OUT OF CAVOTTER IN 5 DAYS AND THERE IS A REALLY GR8 BALL HAPPENIN WITH LIVE MUSIC 2MORROW SO STFU AND GET YOUR FAT SLAVE ASSES 2 UR QUARTERS 2 SET UP SO THE REST OF US CAN HAVE FUN.   
CAPTAIN: xcept u cloies we're gonna gossip all day <>.   
CPT'S <>: <><> \\(^u^)/ <><>   
1ST MATE: in that case can sol stay wwith me ivve been a bit on edge an i think he should be wwith me   
1ST MT'S <>: iit'2 true, he'2 2o fuckiing edgy riight now, he ii2 2woo2hiing hii2 bang2 iin hii2 face a2 we 2peak.   
CAPTAIN: ur SUPPOSED 2 do paperwork with me eridan don't make me do it myself bleh!!   
1ST MATE: thats a real temptin offer an all but im caught up in rapturous heart swwells of the palest sort right about noww i cant break this kinda connection   
MALE SLAVE SUPERVISOR: OH FOR FUCKS S-AKE   
1ST MT'S <>: you don't want hiim goiing crazy on you do you?   
MALE SLAVE SUPERVISOR: CAPTOR -I HAVENT -EVEN S-EEN YOU SINCE YOU FIRST ARR-IVED   
1ST MT'S <>: that'2 becau2e my moiiraiil ii2 the fiir2t mate, cut me 2ome fuckiing 2lack.   
CPT'S <>: (=..=) Don't get cocky, you don't get a free ride just because you've quadranted up with a sea dweller, peasant boy.   
1ST MT'S <>: oh wow, 2iick burn! what a 2tellar iin2ult con2iideriing we're both from pii22 planet, land of banana tiit2.   
CAPTAIN: captor i think u should go BACK 2 THE SLAVE QUARTERS WHERE U BELONG ok? :)   
1ST MT'S <>: a2 maje2tiic and awe2ome your 2uperiioriity ii2, CAPTAIIN, thii2 ii2 NOT your decii2iion two make con2iideriing you are NOT MY MOIIRAIIL.   
1ST MATE: sol cut it out ill be fine if youvve got to do slavve stuff for a wwhile

 

         

“He knows we slept together, Sol, just do what he says,” Eridan mutters from the couch, and then adds a “Please?” when Sollux glowers back at him.

Sollux sighs and jabs his thumbs at the keys as he types out a few acquiescent words, trying to channel his rage into his message. Through gritted teeth, he says, “So what if he knows? It’s not illegal.”

          “I just don’t want-“ Eridan starts, but there’s a visible lump that goes through his throat as he chokes his words down. “You _should_ go back, though.”

          Sollux sighs and shrugs, hoisting his backpack up around his shoulders. “Whatever,” he breathes, choosing not to imagine what Eridan was about to say. “Go do whatever the fuck you’re supposed to.” As he moves to leave, Eridan calls for him to wait, and zips across the floor to wrap him up in a loose embrace and give Sollux a peck on the lips, which deepens to a sweet goodbye kiss.

          “Love you,” Eridan whispers, and kisses him again, a little bit harder- hard enough to sting where his pointy sea dweller teeth mash against Sollux’s lip, but not enough to draw blood.

          “Mmhmm,” Sollux says back, finding it hard to form words because he’s not sure if he’s fantasizing or if Eridan is actually, finally into him. “I love you.”

         

Sollux walks on clouds the entire way back to the slave quarters, head swimming with confusion and excitement, absent of his usual doubts and reservations. He wonders if it’s due to the lack of voices in his head, the ones that scream at him and fling their personal rage and hatred towards him- _why won’t you save me? Why won’t you help us? This is why everybody hates you; you’re a selfish jerk-_ but they’re absent, leaving nothing but his own thoughts to whirl around in his brain, thoughts which are densely populated with grey skin and dyed hair rubbing against his body. When he catches his reflection in the window to the kitchens, he almost smiles. Why is he so fantastic? It really isn’t fair to other trolls. Fuck, he should get paid just to exist.

His head is racing with pompous thoughts about how utterly fantastic he is, Sollux Captor, sea dweller charmer, lovable genius lowblood by night and sexy moirail stand in by day, full-time fuckballs-amazing hacker. By the time he gets to his still-made berth, he’s already started planning his inaugural speech for when The Condesce steps down and makes him Emperor for being so fucking cool.

          The slave supervisor seems to be incredibly easy going, scowling at Sollux when he walks in but not saying anything, not even about Sollux ‘accidentally’ flipping him off the previous night. After Sollux crawls back up to his bunk and hangs his backpack off the peg on the edge, he sends a private message to Eridan.

 

<>M: could you do me a favor? could you ju2t tell me, riight now, where we 2tand becau2e ii'm not iin the mood two deal wiith miixed me22age2 riight now.  
1M: wwhat do you mean thats a hella vvague question  
<>M: you 2aiid  "i lovve you too".  
<>M: aubergiined for wwwwwavvvvy fii2h priince.  
1M: yeah i guess i did <3  
<>M: ...  
<>M: 2o  
<>M: are we uh  
<>M: <3?  
1M: <33333333!  
1M: uh  
1M: maybe wwe could just keep this betwween us for noww wwould that be okay because wwere supposed to be moirails  
<>M: yeah 2ure, wouldn't want two cau2e a fu22.  
SCHMOOPY LOVESAUCE MCTOUCHME: <3  
HONEY BUZZ SWEET NUBS: <3  
CUTIE SCOOP KISSY BOO: wwhat the fuck did you do to the names sol  
GENTLE HUG DOWNFEATHER THE THIRD: ii don't know what you're talkiing about.  
PEACH CHILD SNUGGLEPUSS: i had no idea you wwere so romantic sol SWWOON <3 isnt this wwhole thing romantic hidden lovve an all that its like a fairy tale except wwere a couple a gillbusters not a knight and princess  
INNOCENT BUTTTOUCH SWEETSTUFF: are you iimplyiing that ii am not a 2piitiing iimage of a kniight iin 2hiining armor? wiith biicep2 liike miine, eriidan, ii RIIP THROUGH 2LEEVE2 ALL THE FUCKIING TIIME WIITH MY MU2CLE2. you can be my deliicate egg2hell of a priince22 2wooniing quiietly a2 ii flex.  
CUDDLECURD PUMPERNICKLE: swweep me off my feet sir captor <3 an then drop me fivve steps later because youre too fuckin wweak to carry me its fine your princess wwill carry you AGAIN

 

          “Boys,” the supervisor interrupts, and Sollux sneers at the upper bunk. “We’re going to set up for the ball in five, except you guys that have other stuff to do.”

 

HOTSAUCE NUZZLENARWHAL: 2ave iit for later, priince22 ampora, your kniight ha2 two 2et table2.   
BEAUTYCHUNKS MCGEE: for the ball thing thats goin on is that it   
SIR SUNBEAM HEARTHUG: yeah ii have two hold a tray of 2au2age2 all fuckiing niight, ii am the late niight 2au2age dealer.   
STARSHINE TEDDY BEAR: ii wear a trench coat 2tuffed wiith piig2 iin blanket2, vegan2 don't fuck wiith 2ollux captor the runaway pork dealer.   
LOVEWAVE RAISIN BOY: in that case wwould you like to be my secret illegitimate date you can deal me pork all night   
YOGA LIP ANGELTEARS: THATS NOT WWHAT I MEANT   
ERIDAN'S MATESPRIT: ii would love two deal you metaphoriical pork. <3   
SOLLUX'S MATESPRIT: <3

 

As Sollux stares at his phone screen with the biggest, dorkiest grin stretching across his face, the bug-eyed troll that Sollux remembers identifying as Eridan’s personal speaks up.

          “Is he calm?”

          Sollux stares up at the slats above him, phone growing cold in his palms. “I wouldn’t fucking be here if he wasn’t.”

          “I’m supposed to go change his bedding.”

          “Then go change his fucking bedding, don’t just lie there polluting my hear-holes.”

          “Wow, for a moirail, you’re really pissy.”

          “Wow, for they mayor of idiot island, you’re really observant.”

          The personal slave goes silent for a minute, but, unhindered, continues talking, much to Sollux’s dismay. “He terrifies me.”

          “He turns me the fuck on,” Sollux mutters, and maybe on another day he would regret saying that, but fuck, he’s so damn happy right now and he doesn’t give a shit, just laughs a bit to himself.

          “I’ll bet. I heard he pails you.”

          The easy murmur of voices cycling around the room ceases.

          “Who the fuck told you that?”

          “Everybody.”

          “Tell them they’re about to get a pail to the fucking face, none of their fucking business.”

          “Princess Feferi is his real moirail, they told me that you’re really just his bucket slave standing in.”

          Sollux glances over at the bunk to locate the bug-eyed asshole, and uses his psionics to pick up a flat case of water bottles and hurl it at his face. The personal shrieks and covers his bleeding nose with his hands, and at once, Sollux feels himself being yanked down from his berth by the ankle, crashing down to the ground with a hard thud and being pinned down by one of the other slaves.  Searing pain wells through his back and shoulders, but he’s still laughing, because oh fuck, the bug-eyed asshole got what was coming to him.

          A shadow eclipses his grinning face, and when Sollux opens his eyes, the slave supervisor is hawking over him with a look of paternal disgust. “Captor, we do _not_ hurt others on this ship!”

          The bug-eyed personal slave- Euyeur, apparently, though Sollux isn’t sure if that’s his first name or his last, whimpers and jumps down, blood still flowing from his nose. Sollux struggles to sit up, but the other slave is still pinning him down flat against the linoleum. “Fucking asshole,” Sollux spits, trying to launch a wad of his saliva straight to Euyeur’s face but missing by a long shot.

          “Am I going to have to solve this like a lusus? Captor, why did you throw a pack of water at Euyeur?”

          Sollux rolls his eyes. “Because he’s a dumb fucking asshole that doesn’t know when to shut up?” The supervisor- and everybody else- keeps staring and Sollux rolls his eyes again. “I’m not fucking Eridan, and even if I was, it isn’t fucking illegal, so it’s none of your business.”

          “That doesn’t make it o _kay_ ,” another slave says from his bunk.

          “Actually, it does, are you fucking stupid? And I _just_ said: I’m not fucking Eridan.” _Yet_ , he thinks to himself and swallows a chuckle. God, he really wants to be back in Eridan’s bed right now, feeling that cool flesh in his hands, letting Eridan mark him up and breathe into his neck, black tongue dragging across sensitive skin, painted claws tracing delicate patterns into his hipbones.

          “Whatever,” Euyeur says, and Sollux sneers, standing up to brush himself off when he gets unpinned.

          “Get on bedpan duty, Captor,” the slave supervisor says, “That’ll be your punishment.”

          Sollux curls his lip. “Bedpan duty?” he repeats, and the supervisor throws him latex gloves and tells him to go to the cockpit.

 

          The cockpit door says ‘CREW ONLY’, which annoys Sollux because everybody on the ship is crew to some extent, and he debates knocking before looking down at his gloved hands and figuring that they’d better be damn happy somebody is here to clean a bedpan. He takes a moment to ponder whose bedpan it is before opening the door, and in that moment, somebody comes up behind Sollux and starts talking.

          “Oh, you’re the bedpan boy, aren’t you?”

          Sollux turns to see a tall troll clad in a yellow jumpsuit, who he recognizes as what must be the off-duty helmsman. “Is that what I’ve been reduced to? Fuck.”

          The helmsman shrugs and leads him into the cockpit before parting, where he catches a glimpse of Eridan, the captain and the pilot sitting at a table, scribbling on papers. As they pass by, Sollux lets his hand swing a bit too close to the table so his fingertips run down the length of Eridan’s writing arm, so gently as to not aggravate the bandaged wounds under his sleeves. He doesn’t look back, but he swears that he can feel Eridan blush and push his glasses up.

 

          Bedpan duty turns out to be a misnomer, and Sollux ends up crinkling his nose and draining piss from the on-duty helmsman’s catheter bag, following the pamphlet of instructions left out on the table. The helmsman’s nose drips snot onto the floor, and his mouth is slack and full of drool. It’s a pathetic sight, really, and Sollux is damn sure that he’s going to do what it takes to not end up like that, because he has dignity- or, no, scratch that, he’s getting drooled on while changing a piss bag, but he likes control of his bodily functions at the very least.

          The helmsman’s jumpsuit unzips all the way down to where he’s wearing underwear that is slightly crusty and slightly damp with blueish fluid that Sollux tries not to think about, only adding it to the growing list of reasons not to let them make him into a helmsman, and following the pamphlet’s instructions on how to change his underwear without accidentally disconnecting him.

          The whole room is gross-smelling, of sweat and the sickly sweet scent of mind honey, not unlike his old hivestem room, but lacking in hominess and the stench of overheating old computers burning vent marks into wooden tables, and making up for it in medical astringent and the rusty smell of sheet metal that permeates the entire ship.

          He leaves the room as fast as he can, and allows himself the pleasure of standing just outside the door to the helm and pretending to read the pamphlet while he stares across the cockpit at his matesprit, trying not to wax poetic when Eridan’s glasses slide down his perfectly freckled nose and his rich, dark lips purse gently and catch the light in a way that Sollux can pretend that they are still kiss-swolen and his decorated hands flip through papers with such dexterity, and when he talks, he looks focused and so very Eridanlike- casually condescending, neutrally irritable, because his default state is impatient, and he looks fucking stunning.

          Eridan catches Sollux staring and gives a split-second smile that makes Sollux’s heart explode into a hundred thousand socially-awkward, schmoopy pieces. He tries not to smile back, but he can’t control his face, and ends up giving a contorted, constipated looking look. He ducks away behind the pamphlet quickly, speed-walking out of the cockpit and into the empty hall, where he lets himself turn deep yellow and grin another stupid smile like the shameless wiggler that he seems to be deep down.

 

          He meanders as slowly as possible to the ballroom area to set up with the other slaves, skiving off as much work as possible. Eridan’s personal sneers at him every time that they catch each other’s eye, though Sollux is too apathetic to sneer back, disinterested as he is in the dubiously black solicitation. He played this game with Eridan, sweeps ago, the tiring game of trying not to hate somebody that you dislike, acting rude enough to let them know that you don’t like them, but not so rude that you’re black-flirting.

          It took Eridan ages to get the hint, and even longer to stop his flirting, even after Feferi flipped her shit at him for trying to weasel his way between her and Sollux, so Sollux had started to treat Eridan with slightly more politeness, at first as a massive slap in the face to his perceived rivalry, and then, once he realized how much it discouraged Eridan, as an anti-caliginous maneuver.

          But, as Terezi had explained to him when he barfed up his disturbing epiphany that Eridan didn’t make him want to tie a noose around his neck so much anymore, pretending to like somebody can lead to actually liking them, and their bickering turned playful and they started to realize how well they could get along if they let themselves.

 

 The slaves finish setting up quickly, and are herded back into their quarters and given rations of soup and bread, which they are forced to consume sitting cross-legged on the floor due to lack of space. A few of the slaves chat quietly, but there’s an awkward silence hanging around Sollux like a black cloud. He tries to shovel down his soup and make a break to pull the curtains around his berth and get a bit of privacy, but it’s hot and burns his tongue when he tries.

          “How was bedpan duty?” Eridan’s personal sneers, and Sollux tries not to return the look.

          “How’s your nose?” he says back, trying to stay civil, but his contempt starts to seep out in his voice.

          “Sniffing you out,” another yellowblood says, and Sollux thinks that he recognizes him as the captain’s moirail. “I confirmed your secret, little skinny boy.”

          Sollux uses his psionics to snatch the last can of ginger ale from another slave’s hands just as he moves to grab it. He smirks. “Yes, everybody already knows that I’m aceballs at everything I try, that’s not a secret.”

          A lazy smile crosses both Eridan’s personal’s and the captain’s morail’s lips, which send a chill through Sollux’s spine that he tries to combat by pouring a spoonful of hot soup down his throat. He has no secrets. He hasn’t done anything wrong.

          “Good news travels fast,” the captain’s moirail says, breaking off a chunk of his bun and squishing it into a doughy ball before popping it into his mouth. “My palebro told me that you’re nursing some impressive lovebites, courtesy of the one and only Prince Eridan Ampora.”

          Sollux just manages to catch his hands from instinctively reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt. Eridan was careful, even as piss-drunk as he was, or maybe it was a coincidence, that the numerous hickeys he delivered to Sollux all managed to fall just beneath the collar of his t-shirt.

          But if the captain is the one doling out this information, none of that matters. They were-

          “So you got drunk together and woke up with your clothes on the floor, huh? ‘Not fucking Eridan’ my beefy ass, you’re his slut and I’ll bet he calls you over to spread your legs for him by the end of the night.”

          Sollux doesn’t have much for an appetite, ever, but especially recently, and his stomach isn’t particularily gnawing for food, nor is the soup any good, so it isn’t much of an internal debate. He dumps his boiling soup all over Euyeur, making his eyes bug out even further and his breath come out in gasps. Sollux grins with delight at teaching him a lesson again, saying “You never learn when to shut your fucking mouth, do you?”

          Eridan’s personal coughs up some soup that he had choked on. “Neither do you,” he wheezes, and Sollux is just seething. “He fucks you with a rubber on, doesn’t he? I don’t know of any highbloods like him that want to stick their bare bulge in a cesspool like you.”

          Sollux bites down on his lip, trembling with anger and crackling psionics, because that’s exactly true- when Eridan had broken into his hive and fucked him into the carpet, he wouldn’t touch Sollux’s genetic material, he had noticed, Eridan wouldn’t even lick his wounds or use his nook or pin him down and fuck himself on Sollux’s bulges, because they disgust him, because they’re intrinsically dripping mustard sludge and Eridan thinks that’s dirtier than ramming himself inside Sollux’s waste chute.

          His fists clench when he imagines Eridan rolling a condom on- it’s one of the absolute most degrading things for a troll, for their partner to wear a condom, because they’re akin to the latex gloves that Sollux wore to keep his hands clean while he changed the helmsman’s catheter bag. Eridan wouldn’t. He wouldn’t, not now that they’re matesprits and love and respect each other, no fucking way.

          “For the last fucking time-!” Sollux snaps, rising to stand. His psionics flare red and blue, and they crackle so loudly that everybody in the room gets a good earful of how powerful he is. “It is none of your fucking business what me and him get up to, which, for the record, isn’t fucking each other through a plastic wrapper.”

          Two other slaves grab Sollux’s arms and hold him still, like he’s going to lunge forward, and the personal wipes the boiling soup off of his face and bares his fangs.

          “Why do you care so damn much?” Sollux says, “Or do you wish he’d fuck you through a rubber sleeve?”

           The personal narrows his eyes. “Like I’d ever want a fucking wader like him.”

          A chill goes through the room. You don’t just call a sea dweller a wader like it’s nothing, especially not when it might get back to them. Alternia is rife with slurs, some of them worse than others, but Sollux is becoming largely immune to them (except when they’re coming from- no, never mind, he’s not going to start thinking about that now). Wader is the sort of slur that you could get culled for saying. It’s the sort of thing that makes a room go quiet. It’s the sort of thing that makes Sollux want to rip this douchebag’s fucking vocal cords out for being such a goddamn _idiot_.

          Instead, Sollux uses his psionics to grab him by the hair and wrench his head around violently. “Don’t you fucking dare-!” he screams, fighting the other two slaves from muffling his mouth and eyes. “-Call him a fucking wader!”

          Next he knows, he’s being shoved outside the doors. “Don’t come back until you’ve calmed the fuck down,” somebody says to him, “For fuck’s sake, we’re just trying to eat, play some cards.”

          “How is any of this my fucking fault?” Sollux snaps, and they throw him his phone- one small mercy.

          “Fin fucker!” the captain’s moirail shouts as the door slams. Sollux gives the door a hard kick, but it ends up hurting his toes, and he’s glad that nobody is around to see him hopping up and down in pain. 

          

<>1M: are you iin your room?   
<>1M: are you even there?   
<>1M: ???   
<>1M: are you alone?   
<>1M: fuck come on RE2POND.   
<>1M: ed?   
<>1M: fuck ii mean eriidan? erii? er?   
<>1M: and by er ii mean liike aiir not a fuckiing 2tutter and not eee arrrgh.   
<>1M: becau2e ii'm not 2toopiing two call you erii, that ii2 WAY two 2chmoopy.   
<>1M: FUCK.   
1M: wwhat do you wwant   
<>1M: gee, ii love you two.   
1M: sorry   
1M: im kinda busy right noww   
<>1M: oh. okay.   
1M: is somethin wwrong sol   
<>1M: no, ii ju2t got iintwo a fiight and got kiicked out of the bunk2, wonderiing iif maybe ii could come to your quarter2.   
1M: swwoon wwhat a fuckin bad boy <3 this shit is TEXTBOOK   
1M: sorry though im just in the middle a gettin my hair dyed   
1M: fuck i gotta go   
1M: go eat somethin or get a martini   
1M: or a beer   
1M: bluh   
<>1M: you're 2o cute wiith your aver2iion two non 2ugary alchoholiic driink2.   
<>1M: better 2tart developiing a ta2te for them iif you want two liive up two your ance2tor'2 name.   
1M: BLUH

 

         

           He takes Eridan’s advice and heads down to the bar at the restaurant, weaving through the tables that he had helped set up earlier. The bartender takes one look at him and shakes her head, and then asks what he wants.

          “Uh- give me a- a-“ he racks his brain for some sort of name of an alcoholic beverage that isn’t a fruity little thing covered in syrup, and comes up with, “Gin and tonic?”

          _Fuck._

          She slides him one without any implication that he’ll have to pay- it’s an empire ship, he figures everything is free, and he sips it slowly, fiddling with an unused coaster. They all have culling forks on them.

          “Hey, hey, if it isn’t bedpan boy!” the off-duty helmsman from before says, sneaking up on Sollux from behind. In his right hand is an energy drink, and in his left is a beer. He rotates between taking a swig of each. “You’re Sollux Captor, right?”

          Sollux turns back to his drink and takes another sip. His face doesn’t scrunch up this time, or at least, not because of the drink. “Okay, I’m going to ignore how creepy that is, so yes.”

          “Kedloe,” the helmsman says, sliding into the stool beside him. Sollux turns his body away. Why do people feel the need to talk to him?

          _Stupid name_ , Sollux says to himself, casting his eyes upwards.

          “I’ve been a helmsman for a long time is all,” Kedloe says, “I’m pretty involved, and you’re pretty famous in our circles.”

          Sollux’s chest simultaneously swells and deflates.  “Ith that tho?” he asks, and his lisp comes out grossly strong as his jaw tightens. He vaguely remembers, at the assessments, the crowd of highbloods eyeing him and fighting over him as he descended the stairs, being marked as a high powered psionic like he’s their fucking property.

          “Man, helmsman’s the best you can be, for a psionic,” he says, running a finger through his hair to comb it forwards and cover his scar, as if Sollux didn’t see the gross wounds all over the helmsman whose catheter he changed. Among other things. “Two weeks of doing nothing followed by two weeks of sleeping?” he takes a swig from each drink. “Don’t mind if I do.”

          “I’d rather not spend two weeks dripping snot, but okay.”

          “Hey, we all end up covered in drool and snot in the end anyway.”

          “You seem optimistic.”

          “Hey, I’m just saying, it’s not as bad as everybody makes it out to be. Hell, a guy like you might even make it to a really prestigious ship, those ones come with some sick perks.”

          Sollux takes a huge gulp of his drink, cringing a bit at the bitterness. “I’ll bet.”

          Kedloe shrugs and sits back in his chair. “You got anyone special in your life?”

          A tightness goes through Sollux, pulling his ribs together and sealing the warmth spreading through his chest- no, he hasn’t got anybody, because, as he learned today, it’ll get him kicked out of his bunker to say that he does. “Sort of,” he says.

          “There’s some beautiful planets out there, let me tell you, me and my matesprit, we used to sit in the sunlight- different sun, doesn’t damage skin at all, and we would-“

          Sollux tips the rest of his drink back, abruptly standing and knocking his stool over in the process. “-I’m out.”

          “Aw, come on!”

          “Fuck no.”

          Kedloe shakes his head, picking Sollux’s vacated stool back up, and turning to the other unfortunate soul next to him as Sollux speed walks away, back up the stairs. There’s not much downstairs, just the open ballroom and the restaurant, but there isn’t much upstairs either, just a lot of janitorial closets and bunkers. There’s a gym too, from what Sollux can tell from the map, but he figures that it’s restricted to soldiers, and besides, the thought of himself in a gym is enough to coax a chuckle from him.

          So he wanders around a bit, trying to look focused every time a highblood passes by, instead of the meandering troll that he is, slipping into janitorial closets and reading labels on cleaning products because he is just that bored, until almost an hour passes and he slinks back to the slave bunker, which, thankfully, is open.

          They’re playing a card game, which Sollux immediately recognizes as crazy eights because of all the times that Vriska harassed them to play it with her. They must be absorbed in it, because nobody so much as looks up as Sollux enters the room, and he crawls up into his berth and shuts the curtains, engulfing himself in darkness.

          It’s late enough that he could feasibly go to sleep, plus he is still tired from the grotesquely long night that just panned out, from waking up with Eridan’s body tight against his own, to patching up his arms with bandages and exchanging ‘I love you’s’.

          But before he can even shut his eyes, the curtains slide back and the dull fluorescent light blinds him. A face that he only barely recognizes stares back at him.

          “Shower time,” it says, “and rule number one of the navy is that you don’t skip shower time.”

          Sollux groans and rubs his eyes, fumbling to put his shades back on, then jumping down to tag along, slouching and dragging his feet.

         

          He gets led to the locker rooms of the gym, where there are benches and hooks and a long row of communal showers. Most of the other slaves start stripping right away, kicking their shoes and socks haphazardly across the tile. Sollux strips his feet bare, then his jeans, exposing the big scar on his thigh from when he went shooting with Eridan, but it’s nothing compared to the marks that mar the other slaves: some have dozens of whip marks, others have long scratches on their inner thighs that cut a bit too deep to be from a kismesis. One of them has several cigarette burns on the back of his neck and shoulders, and Sollux is not at all out of place with the fading bitemarks on his shoulders.

          He is out of place with all the fucking hickeys that Eridan gave him, however, and he gives them a quick rub when he passes by his naked figure in the mirror, as if he can wipe them off. He takes a spot at the far end of the showers, feeling nervous and hunching his shoulders like he could disappear and not have to be naked in front of a bunch of relative strangers, showing off his gangly limbs and xylophone spine, scars on his back from being whipped and bitten and clawed and told to be ashamed of the blood that came out, scrubbing soap through his hair as fast as he can.

          The stream of the shower is not enough to block out Euyeur and the captain’s moirail whispering and nudging each other, making obvious glances towards Sollux, who, instead of getting mad or annoyed, slouches harder and slinks back, lump in his throat. He’s not used to being so vulnerable, no shades, no clothes, nothing but his skin and bones. Nobody has ever seen him fully naked before, not Aradia, not Feferi and not Eridan, hell, _he_ doesn’t even look at himself because his body is sharp and gawky and marked up in all the wrong ways and not at all nice to look at.

          He hardly notices that some of the other slaves are a few pounds too heavy and carry their weight as flabby stomachs, or are scrawny and sinewy or that they’ve got scars worse than Sollux does, because he is too busy trying to ignore the echoes of those two asshole trolls’ whispers that penetrate his brain louder than his usual voices, scrubbing the soap off of himself and scooting out of the showers to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist, rummaging for his shirt and yanking it over his body, where it blossoms with wet patches from his skin and dripping hair.

          He finishes up well before the others, speedwalking back to the bunkers to change into sweats for bed, and as soon as he climbs into his bunk, he sees a message left on his phone.

          1M: swweet dreams <3

          The sigh that Sollux lets out is one that leaves him thankful that he is alone, wistful and lovey-dovey, making all of his gut-rotting embarrassment melt away, and he sends a similar message before flopping down on his pillow, the hard mattress and lumpy foam melting under his body that is aching with tiredness, and he drifts off into sleep with a hint of a smile on his face.

         

          He almost screams when he wakes up to another body worming on top of his, but he manages to stifle it into a gasp when a finger gets placed over his lips.

          “Shh, it’s me!” Eridan hisses, fluffing up the downy pillow that he must have brought and swapping Sollux’s scratchy blanket for a soft fleece one.

          “Erid-- ngh, what are you _doing_ here?”

          “I’m cold an’ I can’t sleep.”

          “You almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

          “Shove over.”

          “I never said you could stay, asshole.”

          “Can I stay?”

          Sollux sighs and pauses a bit for dramatic effect, in which feathery kisses get pressed up and down his neck. “Yes.”

          The berth is too narrow for them to sleep side by side, so Eridan ends up shuffling himself to lie almost completely on top of Sollux, rubbing his nose in his neck until he finds a comfortable enough position to where his head is half pressed against Sollux’s collarbone, half on the pillow, and Sollux wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, like he’s afraid that Eridan will fall through the curtains onto the floor.

           Long after Eridan’s breath deepens and his face relaxes, Sollux forces himself to keep awake, rubbing between Eridan’s shoulder blades and tracing along his spine through his flannel shirt, inhaling the perfume-and-chemical scent of washed out hair dye, running his fingers through the softened locks of purple hair.

 

          He’s not sure when he slipped away into sleep, but when he wakes, Eridan is gone, and the only evidence of his stay is the pillow and blanket, and a fuzzy feeling inside of Sollux that urges him to pull the blankets up to his chest and curl up in them. Of course, he doesn’t want to be overcome with personal shame for the rest of his life, so he abstains.

     

* * *

 

          Eridan arrives back in his quarters before the main lights turn on in the halls, thankful for the emptiness that conceals his grunts of pain every time he stubs his toe on the wall corners, which, in the dark, is far too often.

          He is dying to talk to Feferi, to let her know that he may or may not be honestly falling for his friend in a way that he had both tried to refrain from and to push in the revolving door of his emotions and logic.

          He wants her to justify it for him. He wants Feferi to tell him that it’s okay to cut his tether and cast himself off out in an irrational voyage of matespritship with a mustardblooded psionic, to drown his doubts and drench his more unpleasant thoughts in optimism, because he’s absolutely petrified of other highbloods, the trolls that he is going to spend hundreds of his later sweeps in the company of, finding out that he wants genetic filth, and he’s petrified that he is going to start loving Sollux too much to care.  

          Feferi’s video starts playing on Eridan’s husktop, though he doesn’t need the shooshing, he needs to see her face to remind himself that even though he’ll end up either ostracized with Sollux or accepted without him, alone in both cases, Fef is there, and she’s always going to stand beside him, for thousands of sweeps. 


	13. Last Dances and Belated No’s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three semi-related arts for this chapter, [HERE](http://cullionly.tumblr.com/post/45132839026/sometimes-when-youve), [HERE](http://cullionly.tumblr.com/post/46173631289/redrom-version-of-this-pic-because-cuties-dancing) and [HERE](http://cullionly.tumblr.com/post/47476922711/okay-this-is-the-last-one-i-swear-pale-ver-red), over on my tumblr. Also, at the risk of pimping myself out, you can direct any questions, comments, or even suggestions about the story to my tumblr as well.
> 
> It's also pretty fun if you listen to [this youtube mix](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FaxTRX9oAV4) while reading.

          The ballroom is exquisitely decorated, lined with slaves in faded vests carrying platters of hors d'oeuvres, punch bowls, cakes, and a few trolls playing soft violin music off to the side. Eridan can pick out familiar faces in the crowd of the elite crew, the engineer and the helmsmechanic, while he sticks with Cerati and the pilot, who Eridan never found out the name of. Though they’re no Sollux and Feferi, he doesn’t dislike them; they’re both much smarter than Eridan originally gave them credit for, and they can hold a conversation.

          He’s also pretty sure that they’re having a flushed fling, which means that after they claim a table and chat for a while with the soft music floating around them, they give each other a look and go off to dance, forcing Eridan to scoot over to the refreshments table to dawdle and slowly chew food so he doesn’t look like he’s alone.

          He spends his time by taking a puff pastry off of one of the plates, sampling it by taking a bite and putting the half-eaten dessert back on the plate. When every sweet on the table bears his fang prints, Eridan moves to sampling the three bowls of punch, small talking with a soldier girl in a tiny blue dress and a massive head of hair that covers her horns almost entirely, who asks him to dance.

          He steps on her feet more often than he doesn’t, but the soldier girl is chipper and flirty, counting ‘one, two, three, one, two, three’ to help his footwork, and when the tempo slows, she guides his hands lower on her back and rests her head against his chest, making his heart beat double time at the attention- he isn’t used to other trolls taking interest in him, and though he has a nagging suspicion that it’s only because of the violet adorning his body, he drinks it in with a sigh, resting his head on hers. Despite her ridiculous head of hair, she’s beautiful, full cheeks and bright eyes that look well-rested- a rarity amongst trolls, especially during the dark seasons, and she’s a full foot shorter than Eridan, Feferi’s height roughly, full-figured and all smooth curves.

          When he opens his eyes, he catches a glimpse of red and blue glasses, furrowed brows and a mouth pressed into a hard line. Even from a distance, Eridan can see how Sollux’s knuckles are whitened from gripping the tray of sausages in a herculean hold for too long, can see how his secret illegitimate matesprit-date is seething with jealousy, stabbing his sausage tray at passers-by viciously without taking his narrowed eyes off of his matesprit. It makes Eridan smirk for a moment before he succumbs to an overwhelming guilt, and he tries sending off a sweet and reassuring ‘love you’ smile at Sollux and receives a flash of his middle finger in return.

          The music slows to a halt shortly after, and the frontman steps up to the microphone and gives a little intro to his next song.

“We’d like to play a bit of a faster song for you folks, for all you moirails out there, so please excuse the momentary lapse in hors d'oeuvres while we get a bit _salsa_ up in here.”

          The soldier girl gets on her toes to give Eridan a peck on the lips, but he turns at just the right moment that it is delivered to his cheek instead, and they part to search for their diamond-clad partners.

          Sollux is leaned against the refreshment table, tapping his fingers idly and glaring expectant daggers over at Eridan, as if he’s challenging the sea dweller to _not_ ask him to dance while at the same time trying to appear nonchalant.

          Eridan clears his throat, and picks Sollux’s hand up as gently as he can manage, coaxing it over to his lips and placing a light kiss across his knuckles. “Fancy a dance, Mr. Captor?” he asks, smirking a bit.

          Sollux pulls him closer, mutters, “I don’t know, is my hair big enough for you?” and tugs them back to the dance floor, where he makes an attempt to lead their dance despite his utter lack of musical grace.

          There’s a platonic joy flowing through the room, like everybody is smiling all at once (except for Sollux, who still has a scowl on his face), easy and relaxed with their moirails, while violins and saxophones play a lively tune that Sollux and Eridan struggle to keep up with, and resign to dancing completely off-beat.

          “Quit steppin’ on my fuckin’ feet, it hurts!”

          “Then quit kicking my shins!”

          “’Soon as you quit bein’ jealous a’ some random scullywagger who wanted to dance with me.”

          They look up at each other with miffed scowls painting their faces for a moment, before they thaw into quiet laughter, hands tightening and bodies pulling a bit closer than the rest of the couples as Sollux repeats, “Scullywagger,” in amused disbelief.

          “I figured you would know how to dance,” Sollux continues, kissing Eridan’s nose as quickly as he can before anybody can see. “But I guess I was wrong, for the first time ever.”

          Eridan tries to sway their bodies together to match the beat. “I do know how to dance, you’re just messin’ me up. Shoulda fuckin’ known you’d have two left feet.”

          “I’m going to twirl you, kay?”

          “Sol, we can’t even sway to a proper beat, you’re bein’ mighty ambitious here.”

          Sollux hushes him, gripping his hand tight and managing to twirl him with some competency, then jerking their arms up to knock Eridan off balance and catch him in a dip that makes his lips anxious for an overly romantic kiss, but Sollux is nothing if not savvy, and puckers his lips inconspicuously instead, giving him the kissing equivalent of an air hug.

          The song medleys into the slow waltzes that have been dominating the entire ball, and most of the moirails go back to their stations. Sollux, instead, grips Eridan’s hip lightly, weaving their other fingers together and rocking their bodies gently from side to side. They make their way across the floor slowly, sliding their feet in an absolute mockery of a waltz, but pressed together, they don’t care how off-tempo they are.

          The ballroom is dim, crowded with many couples, including the pilot and Cerati, the latter of which Eridan makes uncomfortable eye contact with, almost indulging his instinct to push Sollux off him and pretend that he’s too drunk to think properly, but the other sea dweller shrugs and makes a kissy-face at him.

          Eridan is still trying to interpret what he meant when he feels his head get jostled off of its spot between Sollux’s neck and shoulder, and he opens his half-lidded eyes fully to see Sollux snarling into the crowd and raise his leg to deliver a kick to the back of one of the waiter’s knees.

          “The fuck are you doin’?” Eridan whispers, palming Sollux’s cheek to twist his head back around to face him.

          “It’s none of your fucking concern,” Sollux whispers back through gritted teeth, and adds, _“Snugglewaffle_.”

          Eridan buries his head back in Sollux’s shoulder. “The fuck is with you tonight? We’re _supposed_ to be havin’ fun.

          “Nothing is ‘with me’,” Sollux mutters harshly, before lightening his tone and grazing a hand across Eridan’s neck. “Just a douchebag, a couple of mood swings, that’s all. And that I want to kiss you so bad, my lips are going to gain sentience and jump off my face if I’m not careful.”

          “You’re sweet.”

          “Imagine what I would look like without lips though.” He snickers. “You wouldn’t be calling me sweet then.”

          “Pretty sure I would. Anyway, you’re only sweet ‘cause a’ the gallons a’ honey gummed to your unhygienic body; you’re supposed to shower every night, not every time there’s a change in empirical leadership.”

          “Not all of us need to wash pounds of lipstick off before bed.”

          Eridan smirks and presses a kiss to the very bottom of Sollux’s jaw, looking around first to make sure nobody’s looking. “Oops,” he laughs, rubbing the black smear into his skin with his thumb. “Guess you’ll be washing that off before bed.”

          Sollux tightens his hand around Eridan’s, shimmying their feet back to a semi-close emulation of the other dancers and snickering softly. “Shut up and dance with me.”

          Eridan forgets to focus on the tempo soon enough, lost in the swaying from side to side, and rests his head on Sollux’s shoulder, bringing his free hand up to play with his hair. When his hand bumps against his horns, a slight curiosity runs through him, and brief snippets of torturing rustbloods flash through his mind- why did they react when they were grabbed by the horns? It has to be a psychic thing, he figures, but his curiosity burns brighter and he runs the pad of his thumb along Sollux’s inner horn, stroking lightly just in case it has some effect on his psionics and sends sparks off.

          Sollux just sighs into Eridan’s ear, and that encourages him to start playing with the larger horn, running it between his fingers to feel the shallow ridges, and Sollux starts nuzzling his face against the side of Eridan’s head, making happy-pleased sounds that are almost purrs, face burning hot with embarrassment, over how cute he sounds, Eridan assumes, and he rubs his fingers against the base of Sollux’s horns hard, grinding them in, and Sollux purrs louder, heat radiating off of his cheeks.

          “You’re absolutely adorable,” Eridan mutters in his ear, “You like getting’ your horns rubbed, do you?”

          Sollux breathes his name, trying to push his horns harder into Eridan’s fingers, like a cat itching to get scratched behind the ears. Eridan doesn’t have the self-control to resist pressing a kiss to his temple, wondering if it feels better than a scalp massage at the hair dresser.

          “ _Eridan_.”

          Eridan winds a few strands of hair around his free fingers idly, spreading out his hand so he can rub two horns at once.

          “E-eridan, stop-“ Sollux stammers, and it is so sweet how flustered he is at Eridan finding out where he’s sensitive enough that Eridan can make him purr like a kitten.

          “Stop what?” he teases, plunging his fingers down to the base of his horns again.

          “My h-hah-“ a small shiver goes through Sollux; he grips Eridan harder, balling his fist in his matesprit’s jacket. “My hah—“

          The second Sollux’s hips thrust against his own, revelation crashes through him, because there are two fully erect bulges pressing at the crotch of Sollux’s pants, and oh shit, he didn’t know that-

          “My _horns_ ,” Sollux moans, way too loudly, biting his lip and banging his hips against Eridan’s again and again, flailing his hands to clench at the collar of Eridan’s jacket as his pants become soaked with his genetic material and he rides out his orgasm, legs trembling and body yearning for more touch, and in the desperate fog, Sollux smashes his lips against Eridan’s, moaning into his mouth until his body relaxes for the briefest of moments before Eridan jumps away like Sollux is on fire.

          “I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry!” he stammers. “I had no idea they—I had no idea-!”

          Sollux pulls their bodies back together to cover the wet splotches between his legs, face dark with flush and knees wobbling. Eridan flits his eyes downward for a second to see dark wet lines still running to the hem of Sollux’s pants, collecting into yellow droplets at the seam and dripping onto his shoes. Embarrassed, he tears his eyes away to gaze away into the crowd, anywhere but Sollux, really.  “What the fuck do we do now?” Sollux hisses, breath still shallow.

          “So fuckin’ sorry-“

          “I hate you _so fucking much_ -”

          “I said I’m sorry!”

          Eridan pushes their bodies over towards the food table, guiding them with such force that Sollux can’t do much but go along with it, pretending to do a fumbled dance to keep the crotch of his pants mostly concealed from the crowd- his pants are dark, but faded enough that they’re obviously soaked through with mustard coloured genetic material, and it’ll be plain as day as soon as their hips break apart.

          “I got a plan,” Eridan whispers in Sollux’s ear, and by god, he’d better have a goddamn plan.

          Said plan does not become apparent to Sollux until he’s hurtling towards the punch bowl at a thousand miles an hour, vaguely aware of the split second prior that involved Eridan kicking his ankles out from underneath him and flipping him into the table with all the grace that he lacked when they were dancing.

          His reaction goes from ‘decent plan’ to ‘dumbest fucking plan ever’ as soon as a tidal wave of blue punch tsunamis into his crotch, whisking away the genetic material and re-soaking him, right before the force of his body hitting the table snaps the cheap wood in half, sending glass bowls, pastry dishes and ten tier cakes plummeting to the ground.

          The fine and luxurious punch bowl shatters into a million pieces, most of which are trapped underneath Sollux’s back, but the pieces are thick and dull and only poke and prod at him. Small pastries rain down on him, pelting his head with their flakey shells, and his left hand is completely submerged in the mushy remnants of the special-made commemorative naval officer cake.

          For what seems like an eternity, the only sound is the deafening echo of the clattering silvery trays. The band remains frozen, gaping at Sollux along with the million other eyes boring into his skull. Even the two asshole trolls from prior are shocked into silence, watching the slow drip of blue punch off of Sollux’s nose.

          “I’ll get him cleaned up!” Eridan calls, grabbing Sollux’s arm to yank him up and rush them up the stairs to his quarters.

         

          Once the door is shut, Sollux strips his pants off, and Eridan doesn’t miss the way his hands are still shaking, which he at first hopes is from climaxing, but Sollux looks like a giant lemonhead, he’s so flushed, mouth in a taught line, holding back gallons of hot air that Eridan can sense is about to explode out.

          “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he screams, stomping a step closer to Eridan and rattling the painting on the wall. “Do you have any idea how much shit I’m going to get into? I’m going to be washing blue punch out of my hair for weeks, _you idiot!”_ He stomps closer again, this time sending the painting crashing to the ground, where it explodes into shards of glass. Eridan swallows down a massive lump, shimmying his feet back slowly until his legs bump into the end table.

          “So… they’re really that sensitive, huh?”

          Sollux chucks his come-drenched pants at Eridan, who shrieks and ducks, dodging them by a millisecond. “Yes, they’re really that sensitive! Yours aren’t?”

          Eridan curls his fist around his own horn and gives it a few lewd-looking pumps. He can feel that he’s touching them, but it’s a barely-there feeling and certainly not something pleasurable. “Nope.”

A red and blue pair of sparks go off from Sollux’s eyes, and in an instant, he uses them to wrench Eridan’s wrists up and together over his head. Eridan can’t hold back a gasp, panic hammering in his heart- is this what Sollux feels like when Eridan has an episode? But Sollux’s motions are calculated, planned out and sober-minded, and his fear moulds into relief when Sollux bursts into his laughter, shaking his head in disbelief, and in a moment Sollux’s mouth is suddenly on his functional earfin, licking relaxed trails that make the fin flutter and twitch.

          “How about here?” he purrs, playing with the ridges with his split tongue. The sensation is enough to make Eridan give a low groan in deep in his chest, the forked tongue so alien and yet so alluring.

          “Not gonna make me come in my pants,” he whispers, cradling Sollux’s head in his hands. “But nice.”

          They stay that way for a while, standing in the middle of the room with Sollux’s pants heaped in a dirty pile beside them, Eridan holding his matesprit’s face and Sollux licking and sucking the earfin, running his hands idly up Eridan’s side. “Fuckin’ bipolar,” Eridan says under his breath as his heart slows back down and they start to sway their bodies to the faded melody trickling through the cracks in the door.

          Sollux’s body is warm, and his mouth is hotter on the hypersensitive membrane of his earfin; there’s no hope of controlling its spasms, especially when a puff of hot air from Sollux’s mouth clouds it. “At least we’re alone now,” he breathes, allowing Eridan to weave their fingers together.

          And because they’re alone, they dance like they wanted to, Sollux shifting his feet reluctantly and semi-awkwardly, snickering at how ridiculous they must look swaying to near-inaudible music, but Eridan puts a tight grip on his shoulder and eggs Sollux to place his hand over his hip and spread a bit of his body heat to Eridan’s perpetually cold skin. They kiss, finally, long and deep and private- alone, it can be their own moment to share, with nothing but the floor and furniture to pass judgement, there’s no tentativity or eyes surveying the room before indulging.

          “Do you want to…?” Sollux whispers, mouthing down Eridan’s jawline to lick across his neck.

          A panic sweeps through Eridan and he becomes acutely aware of how his bulge is, as always, stubbornly tucked away, and his nook has not even begun to twitch with arousal despite Sollux’s hands and lips touching him in all the right ways.

          And that fear again- fear of falling in love with Sollux to the point of tunnel vision and logical fallacies, he fears losing control, and there are Eridan’s problems and there’s his revolting scar-covered torso that he’s fairly sure will make Sollux’s bulges pack up and jump off the fucking ship. But at the same time, he wants to fall in love- he’s always wanted to, he just never imagined that it would be with a gutterbl- with his childhood friend. He wants Sollux to be close to him and be part of him, he’s just too damn scared.

          “Sol, you know I have… problems,” Eridan chokes out with humiliation dripping from his voice. “But I… I want to if you do.”

          Sollux must notice the quiver in Eridan’s voice, because he caresses the side of his face with the back of his hand, sending electric shocks through Eridan’s heart that pulsate into hot beams of lightning when he feels his lips getting kissed tenderly again.

          “We can take as long as you need,” Sollux says in a low and gentle voice, the same one that Eridan had trouble recognizing as his back on Glasshollow, and buries his head in Eridan’s neck, kissing and licking while pushing them over to the bed, where they collapse in a heap onto the soft sheets.

          Eridan’s tie is the first thing to go, followed by his suit jacket, Sollux’s bow tie and vest, but when Sollux’s slender fingers start fumbing at their shirt buttons, one of his, one of Eridan’s, one of his (which is terribly inefficient, Eridan notes, but strangely sentimental, like it would mean something to him if they stripped together), Eridan snatches his hand and squeezes it until he feels the tendons flex under his palm.

          “Okay,” Sollux breathes, and kisses his collarbone, fumbling off his own shirt and tossing his glasses over to the bottom of the mattress. Without his glasses, his eyes look tired, rimmed with heavy bags and covered in shadow, but the shape of them compensate for his drooping eyelids. They aren’t dark with lashes like Eridan’s, and certainly not done up with a vivid violet pencil and gold powder, but they’re deep and rich, fiery red and soothing blue. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he whispers, words ghosting along Eridan’s neck. His fingers move up again, this time to the sides of Eridan’s face where he strokes along his jaw with his thumb, pressing more kisses to every inch of skin and peeling Eridan’s glasses off like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do, like he’s stripping his matesprit bare, and he stays for a brief moment, locking their eyes together, and fear flickers through Eridan, feeling exposed and naked despite his shirt. Under Sollux’s gaze, he feels powerless and vulnerable, and although trust licks at the edges of his fear, trembles course down the length of his limbs and he squeezes his eyes shut, certain that if he stays under that gaze for an instant longer, he’ll start to squirm away in panic, feeling all too much like a bug under a microscope.

          Eridan’s briefs come off next, giving Sollux free reign to push his legs apart and play with his inner thighs, kissing and licking with his warm mouth, swirling patterns with his fingers and making his way down to kiss his feet.

          It makes Eridan shudder when Sollux kisses the top of his foot, and Sollux smirks and presses a kiss to each toe, kneading each sole with his thumbs. Eridan grumbles a bit, twisting clammy palms into the covers.

          “Of course you’d like this,” Sollux chuckles between kisses. “Your royal highness.”

          Eridan’s hands move to the slit where his bulge is just starting to peek out, running his fingers up and down to try to coax it out with one hand, the other hand moving a slight bit lower to rub at the entrance to his nook. He grimaces upon finding it to still be more or less dry, hardly even ready for the one finger that he pushes inside.

          He isn’t very sensitive yet, and though it feels nice to have a finger rubbing inside of him and Sollux kissing his feet and treating him like a prince, it’s frustrating; any other troll would have their nook wet at the very least.

          Eridan bites his lip and slides his finger in deeper when he feels Sollux’s split tongue weaving between his toes, and it brings him a bit of satisfaction to see the dark blush of Sollux’s cheeks imply that he’s enjoying it more than Eridan is, muttering barely audible addressings of ‘your majesty’ and ‘sweet little prince’, and it’s so fanatical that Eridan can’t help but give a giggle, wiggling his toes and watching Sollux move to work the kinks out of every aching muscle and tendon he has.

          “You really like this,” Eridan says brightly, wishing that his voice were strained with arousal, but it sounds like something he would say over brunch, despite the finger in his nook and the lowblood groveling at his feet- fuck—no, despite Solluxlavishing attention on him. He groans as Sollux’s claw kneads in a particularly sore spot. “--Mmn, and you’re really good at it.”

          Sollux doesn’t respond beyond a hasty moan, completely lost in his own world, and it takes Eridan a moment to realize that he’s taken one of his hands off of Eridan to start fingering himself, and it’s making his flush deepen by the second.

          But Eridan’s bulge has revealed no more than an inch of itself, his nook is still too dry to put in a second finger without discomfort, and Eridan doesn’t know Sollux’s sexual habits very well, but from what he’s gathered, it doesn’t take much to make Sollux come, and if he comes now, he’s going to get impatient, and he’s going to get frustrated and bored, and he’s going to leave Eridan and they’re never going to be intimate again, and they’ll break up and he’ll be alone and nobody else will want to be with him and the drones will cull him for being a pathetic waste of a life.

          So he wheels back to kick Sollux’s shoulder, wrenching his arm back far enough to pull his fingers out of his nook.

          “Ow- what the fuck?!”

          Heart hammering, Eridan twists his legs to grab Sollux’s head between his ankles and drag him up to rest his chin on the sheets between Eridan’s legs. He isn’t sure what exactly to say to not kill the mood, but if Sollux wants to treat him like royalty, he figures that snapping, “Me first,” will suffice.

          Sollux gives a groaning laugh, rubbing his bulges into the mattress and getting another softer kick from Eridan.

          “Come on, what the fuck did I just say?”

          Sollux shakes his head and snorts, pressing a soft kiss to the highest part of Eridan’s inner thigh, right in the crook between his leg and the opening of his nook. “As you wish,” he says teasingly, showering on a dozen more kisses.

          A discouraged whine escapes Eridan’s throat and he flops down into the sheets when he realizes that he’s still not erect- his bulge receded back inside of him, fucking useless thing. “Don’t even fuckin’ bother, Sol, I’m not even-“

          “-Shh, I told you, we’ll take as long as you need.”

          Eridan sighs when he feels Sollux’s tongue run along the slit of his nook, all the way up to the tip of bulge that exposed itself, and by the time he runs it back down again, there’s another inch emerged, and his nook is relaxed enough to accept Sollux’s tongue wiggling inside and lapping up the small amounts of genetic material, slicking it with his spit.

          “ _Sollux_ ,” Eridan breathes, hands smoothing in his hair down to the nape of his neck, then breathes it again, louder, when Sollux moves up to run his split tongue up and down the short underside of Eridan’s exposed bulge, replacing his tongue with two fingers that pump into his nook, crooking to scratch on a certain spot that sets fireworks off behind Eridan’s eyes.

          Sollux retreats his face to kiss all over the insides of Eridan’s thighs, scraping lightly with his teeth and sucking hard enough to leave temporary dark swells, up to his hipbones, his neck, his ears, all the while grinding his own erection against Eridan’s legs.

          They get to the point where Sollux can slide three fingers inside of Eridan’s nook with ease and have them come out slathered in thick genetic fluid while his fully emerged bulge curls around Sollux’s wrist and his moans get periodically lost as he writhes into the pillows, and at that point, Sollux kneels between Eridan’s legs, coaxing them to spread open a bit further. He bends over his matesprit, sucking his neck gently to soothe him in preparation, but Eridan freezes up, hands tangled in the sheets like he’s been turned to stone. The only evidence that he has not, in fact, morphed into a statue is a strangled sound of protest at the back of his throat and the gradual recede of his bulge back into its sheath.

          “It’s okay; they’re not any bigger than a normal bulge when they’re twisted together.”

          Eridan makes another strangled sound that is slightly more desperate when Sollux presses closer, shushing him and licking his neck, lining his bulges up with Eridan’s nook.

          Even though hard arousal is coursing through Sollux, and all it would take to send him reeling in ecstasy is one smooth thrust forward, he uses the last scraps of his willpower to stay still. “What is it?’

          Eridan’s hands start trembling. “No.”

          “What?”

          “I said no.”

          Sollux falls back to sit on his own heels. “What do you mean, ‘no’? You said you wanted to.”

          Eridan clenches his legs together and scrambles to sitting position, pushing Sollux out of the way. “I said fuckin’ no, no no no; I changed my fuckin’ mind, lock me up an’ throw my ass in the brig if that’s such a fuckin’ crime.”

          With a great deal of pause, Sollux reaches to wrap the sheets around his waist to cover his erection, and rolls to join Eridan sitting against the decorated headboard of the bed. They stare off at the rest of the room for a while, their silence making way for the distant sounds of violins and the barely-there roar of the ship’s power supply.

          Idly, Sollux wonders if his table incident ruined the ball. He hopes so, but then again, it’ll probably get him whipped to hell and back if it did. An ache runs through his back just thinking about the gnarled rope lashing across his skin again, how it cuts first, and then drags across the wound, rubbing the oversensitive flesh, how it sends drops of blood raining down as it pulls back, the burn and the sting that’s enough to make him lose his inhibitions and howl like an animal; he’s gotten just two lashes, from the volatile materials cave, but, he thinks, if he gets more from crashing into the table, that’s just fine. It’d be worth the pain to have this privacy with his matesprit, even if they aren’t strictly _having sex_ , they’re together, and that’s more than enough for Sollux. Even if his bulges are still throbbing, and there’s a tension permeating the room, it’s still all worth it.

          “Sorry,” Eridan whispers after a long while.

          “You don’t have to apologize,” Sollux says, wrapping an arm around Eridan and pulling him tight against his body. “We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t feeling it.”

          “I’m never feelin’ it Sol, that’s the problem.” Something in the way he says ‘problem’- the way he draws out each sound, as if dragging each of them through a mud pit of bitterness and loathing, only to spit them out- it makes Sollux realize that the violet flush on his face isn’t leftover from arousal.

          “You aren’t a _problem_ ,” Sollux says carefully, rubbing Eridan’s shoulder and pressing his nose into his hair. “I said we can take as long as you need, and I fucking mean it.”

          There is disbelief so clearly evident in Eridan’s voice, tremors of insecurity and shock, of scepticism and bewilderment; he whispers, “Thanks, but…” and trails off.

          “I’m not going to leave you,” Sollux says slowly, with as much clarity as he can.

          Eridan buries his face into Sollux’s shoulder, and with his bare skin, he can feel the first wetness of tears nagging at him.

          “Eridan? You, uh, are you okay?”

          “You’re not gonna leave me?” Eridan repeats, but it sounds more like a question. An accusatory question. “You _are_ , don’t fuckin’ lie to me.”

          Sollux wraps his arm tighter and kisses his matesprit’s forehead. “Shush, I love you, we’ll wait until you’re ready, okay?” He tries to force out a laugh when tears continue to stream from Eridan’s disbelieving face. “You made me come in my pants by rubbing my horns, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

          “It’s- it’s just so fuckin’ embarrassin’ that I can’t-“

          “- _Shush._ I don’t give a shit, Er, you’re perfect either way.”

          Eridan sniffs, and blows his nose on the edge of the pillowcase, discarding it by chucking it door-ward. His lip is still trembling as he speaks. “You really think so?”

          Their lips meet in the warmest kiss that Eridan has ever felt, like melted chocolate pouring down his lips, like toasted marshmallows that taste like his own overwhelmingly salty genetic material and the metallic taste of Sollux’s spit. “Yeah,” Sollux whispers bluntly. “You’re perfect.”

          “I mean perfect is just kinda a strong word, obviously no one can very well be perfect ‘cause that’s a logical farc-“

          Sollux cuts him off with a kiss, identical to the last and, dropping his voice to a whisper that’s low enough to be dubious whether or not he intends for Eridan to hear, says, “I’m in love with you.”

          “Sol…”

          Sollux straightens up, fumbling at his tousled hair awkwardly, tripping over his words, trying to backtrack slightly. “I-I mean- I love you—and I’m red for you, Er, uh—why are looking at me like that?”

          Eridan smiles into Sollux’s shoulder and uses his free hand to take Sollux’s and give it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re a nerd,” he whispers, and kisses Sollux’s collarbone. “Fuckin’ charmin’ as shit, but a nerd.”


	14. Stress Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti-miscechromatic is a fake made up word that comes from anti-miscegenation (opposed to inter-racial relationships) and chroma, as in colour, roughly meaning “opposed to inter-caste relationships” in the context of this universe.  
> Also, some more housekeeping stuff! [I drew the two douchiest characters in this fic,](http://cullionly.tumblr.com/post/48661940443/quietly-slides-this-onto-my-blog-yeah-its) Eridan’s personal slave and the captain’s moirail AKA the assholes that keep hassling Sollux.  
> **Warning for sexual harassment in this chapter!**

 

 CAPTAIN [CAPTAIN] sent a log to 1ST MATE [1ST MATE]

CAPTAIN: eriiiidan!   
1ST MATE: hey   
CAPTAIN: oooh boy, this is gonna b really awkward uh...   
CAPTAIN: auuuugh this is so hard 2 ask!   
1ST MATE: oh fuck   
1ST MATE: you arent feelin red towwards me are you cause that wwould be seriously awwkwward for the both of us   
CAPTAIN: no omg no! b sides me & the pilot wink wink!   
1ST MATE: do you evven knoww his name wwhy do you only call him the pilot   
CAPTAIN: um sometimes i call him pi.   
1ST MATE: does anybody on this fuckin ship evven knoww his name   
CAPTAIN: SO N E WAY!   
CAPTAIN: i saw u & ur moirail...   
CAPTAIN: like makin out all over the place, and i started wonderin...   
1ST MATE: FUCK please just tell evverybody i wwas drunk outta my skull i knoww thats askin you a huge favvor here but this is prime blackmailin material wwere flirtin wwith it could fuckin end me   
CAPTAIN: ok i don't really mind if u want 2 make out with ur moirail it's not really my business.   
1ST MATE: really?   
1ST MATE: youre not gonna be all condescendin towwards me cause a this?   
CAPTAIN: like i'd rather u not do it in public cause i don't want u 2 get called a pervert or n e thing.   
CAPTAIN: buuuut the point is that i'm worried about u!   
1ST MATE: im not a fuckin moron i knoww ivve gotta keep it a secret an ivve been doin a codawwful job so far   
CAPTAIN: R U SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED? Y/N   
1ST MATE: WWHAT?   
CAPTAIN: look, you're mackin on a slave... all i'm sayin is that he can't xactly say no can he?   
CAPTAIN: i think it would b much more fair 2 captor if u 4mally took him as ur pailslave so he can get all the compensation like housin & food & tax breaks & all that other stuff.   
CAPTAIN: pailslaves have it pretty sweet since we're both ridiculously hot it's like...basically charity work.   
CAPTAIN: i bet captor would b overjoyed he seems like he's a bit of a firecracker around the bucket lol & lowbloods r just naturally submissive so it works out AWESOME 4 us ;D.   
1ST MATE: dont fuckin talk about sollux that wway REGARDLESS of wwhether wwere doin that or not hes been my best friend for a long ass time an hes just an all around amazin guy an hes NOT LIKE THAT i think i lovve him i dont just wwanna fuck him   
CAPTAIN: ...   
CAPTAIN: ok!   
1ST MATE: the fuck do you mean okay   
CAPTAIN: not all of us r anti-miscechromatic! if u really love him then u should do what makes u happy.   
1ST MATE: wwell thanks for that its nice for someone to showw some support instead a the odium that gets flung at me all the fuckin time   
CAPTAIN: keep it on the dl but ur pretty much safe here :) no cullin on the ship!   
CAPTAIN: just... maybe think it over b4 we go home, k? i mean there's paparazzi & every1 else 2 deal with.   
CAPTAIN: also b4 you go 2 sleep did u finish the 1st set of readins i gave u?   
CAPTAIN: ooh and i need u 2 get me those plans that u were supposed 2 draft with whatsherface.   
CAPTAIN: and that report from glasshollow needs 2 get 2 me by 2morrow or else it's invalid.   
CAPTAIN: i'm not loadin you up 2 bad am i? D:   
1ST MATE: no im fine im made for this kinda wwork   
CAPTAIN: ok GOOD! because i also need ur damage report from the ball so u have 2 get info from the chefs 2 c what was ruined.   
1ST MATE: sure   
CAPTAIN: can u get these all done 4 2morrow?    
1ST MATE: obvviously   
CAPTAIN: good yay thanks! :D

 

* * *

 

          Sollux doesn’t see much of his matesprit in the nights that follow, as the whole ship seems to cooperatively decide that they need to crack down and get some actual work done, and thus Sollux gets worked to complete exhaustion, made to scrub everything from toilets to shoes until his hands are raw and bleeding, throbbing in the tips of his pinky fingers where his nails had been forcefully yanked off as part of a disciplinary measure (he’s had a few nights to block it from his memory- the crack when they were peeled from his skin and the flood of blood that ensued), then he peels potatoes and washes dishes, wherein he gets kicked repeatedly in the small of his back, causing him to bruise the front of his hips by the way that the force causes them to bang against the countertop with way too much force than a pair of high heeled boots should have, for smudging blood from his scabbed knuckles on the food.

          The male slave supervisor doesn’t hit them much, or even yell- he bitches constantly about their piss poor cleaning jobs (which is laughable- Sollux is fairly certain that he’s committed mass genocide on the bacteria families residing all over), but the female slave supervisor is vicious with her stupid high-heeled boots, and when Sollux finally gets the okay to retreat back to the bunker to sleep, he’s sporting a collection of quarter-sized bruises on his head from being kicked. His nose is probably bent too, from having her trod on his head and smush it into the apparently ‘unclean’ floor that he spent the better part of three hours scouring to perfection.

          Still, neither are very intimidating like the woman back at the volatile materials caves had been, and even though the aches and pains stack up each day, they’re nothing more than a bit of an inconvenience. The private time wherein he scrubs alone is fantastic, if only because it lets him reflect on his quiet mind, free of voices. Hell, he can hardly remember what it was like having a constant bombardment of tortured screaming and petty thoughts nagging at the back of his mind, and it’s going to be agony once they get back to Alternia and he readjusts.

          The lack of voices also means that Sollux is free to fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, too exhausted to indulge Eridan’s personal and the captain’s moirail- Euyeur and Darzey, he learned from hearing the names barked over and over (Darzey, get your ass to the captain’s quarters, your moirail’s crying! Euyeur, Prince Ampora needs his pillows fluffed! Euyeur and Darzey, I’m not your goddamn lusus, I shouldn’t have to tell you to give Captor his glasses back, are you three sweeps old?)- they usually have some snippant comment for him when they’re all back in the bunker (Kitchen duty, huh? Was it hard to control yourself around the fish?) and he has neither the energy nor the patience to retort, which only makes them more annoying the next night.

          He wakes up to slick and cold pavement under his hands the next morning, rough enough to scrape the tips of his fingers when he curls them into the ground. He isn’t sure where he is exactly, maybe an alleyway, but his hips are in the iron grip of some stranger and his pants and underwear are wadded up in a heap next to him, sopping wet with rain.

          “That’s fucking hilarious,” the stranger says, in a voice that sounds familiar. “He’s so fucking turned on.”

          It takes Sollux a second to register that the stranger is talking about him, to somebody else, and that he is, in fact, aroused beyond belief, bulges out and curling against his stomach with every lazy thrust from the stranger as he gets fucked hard into the pavement. The backs of his thighs burn from being smacked, and he can feel the hand twisting in his hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to arch his back.

          “Wonder what he’s thinking about,” another voice says, squeezing his bare hips. Sollux shivers and bites back a moan, grinding his hips back in an attempt to get the stranger to pick up in speed. The front half of his body slumps to the ground as soon as it’s released, bruising his jaw but relieving the aching tension in his neck.

          His chin scrapes back and forth against the ground until it draws blood, until he feels his face being picked up and placed gently in Eridan’s lap, who is, for some reason, kneeling in front of him, flipping his attention to the strangers every so often and giving satisfied nods. He shuffles his pants down on his hips, pulling his underwear down just enough that his bulge can start probing around at Sollux’s face, smearing sticky violet lines. “Shh-shh, I’ve got you sweetheart,” he breathes, running two claws through Sollux’s hair, bristeling through his scalp and making him give a completely involuntary shudder, one that sets Sollux deeper in his lap when paired with the way his body gets pushed forward helplessly with every slam of the stranger’s bulge into his nook. He lets his weight shift for the moment it takes to pull his elbows out from underneath him and wrap them around Eridan’s waist.

          “I—I need—“ he pants, gripping his matesprit’s hips tighter. He hasn’t the air in his lungs to form a proper sentence- each time he tries, it immediately gets knocked out of his chest.

          “You want me to tell them to make you come?” Eridan whispers, stroking Sollux’s burning cheek gently and pressing a thumb into his mouth. Sollux sucks it without question, and nods.

          “Do you?” Eridan repeats, still stroking his face and toying with his lips. Every so often, his bulge will trail too close, and Sollux will catch it between his lips, taking in a few drops of sweet violet, and he’ll be rewarded with a series of deep thrusts from the stranger inside of him and Eridan purring that he’s well behaved.

          His thighs turn to jelly soon enough, nearly numb from being squeezed and slapped, and he nods with urgency, poking his tongue out to try and get a lick of Eridan’s bulge before it hits his lips.

          “Yes Eridan,” the sea dweller says, pinching Sollux’s tongue between two claws. “Say it.”

          “Yeth Eridan,” Sollux repeats around the fingers in his mouth, grinding back into the stranger’s hips and managing to get his bulge a little bit deeper. For some reason, the strangers burst into hushed giggles that make Sollux’s face grow hot with embarrassment.

          “Yes Eridan _please_.”

          Eridan pulls him in for a sloppy kiss, reaching his hand down to grab into Sollux’s bulges like he’s about to start jerking him, but he keeps his hand still, squeezing tightly and sending an agonizing throb through them.

          It’s more than he can take, feeling Eridan’s hand on him while he lets some stranger fuck him raw, and he’s pretty sure that he’s going to die if Eridan doesn’t move his hand right now, and fuck, there’s not even a bucket but he doesn’t care; he’d come all over the Mona Lisa if it meant that he would be able to. “ _Yes Eridan, please_ ,” he gasps, spilling out onto the ground with a long groan, getting his face rubbed and kissed until the feeling of soft kisses slowly fades away into drenched sheets and an echo in the room he prays is not from him talking in his sleep.

          “The rumors are true,” a voice that he recognizes as Darzey’s says, and Sollux jumps an inch out of his skin before white hot anger twists through his stomach and up to his crackling eyes, using his psionics to hurl him and his fucking bug-eyed friend against the opposite wall.

          There’s a lingering pressure dancing across his horns, his heart is hammering, and those two bastards- _that’s hilarious, look how fucking turned on he is_ \- he could _kill_ them.

          Instead, he uses his psionics to slam them against the wall until their faces make cartoon-esque dents and they screech in shock and pain. It’s even more enjoyable when they try to fight back, but they’re utterly useless when Sollux is deadly focused with a good sight of where he wants to move his sparks, sneering but otherwise cool and collected in his berth, tipping them upside down and dangling them.

          That is, until the other slaves are jostled awake, and start flipping their shit. Three of them wrench back the curtains and throw Sollux on the ground, smothering his eyes with a pillow that he claws at to try and enact a little more sweet revenge.

          “That’s it- I’ve fucking had it with you, Captor,” one of them hisses, “You need to get your shit together; you’re a liability to all of us on this goddamn ship.”

          Sollux yanks the pillow off of his eyes to see his two douchebags slumped on the floor with bloody noses, but otherwise conscious. They have the wherewithal to not smirk as the other slaves attempt to drag Sollux out of the room.

          “None of this is my fucking fault, oh my god, these two assholes have been on my ass non-stop, they might as well be sewn to my fucking underwear,” he jerks his arms away and scrambles back to his berth, knocking one of the slaves over in the process. “I just want to sleep without being horn-molested, alright?”

          “Bullshit,” Eridan’s personal slurs, clutching at his nose. “You want your stupid boyfriend in bed with you again.”

          Sollux yelps as he’s pulled back down from his berth and struggles to get the slave’s hands off of his ankles. “God, why do you care so fucking much about me and Eridan?”

          “Because I- because he’s crazy- he’s pure evil, I hate him- I hate him so much!” Euyeur wipes the blood from his lips and tugs his shirt up to reveal a massive and blotchy bruise on his side. “Wanna know how I got this? He threw me down the stairs when I put honey mustard instead of regular mustard on his sandwich.”

          Sollux sneers and struggles at the three slaves holding him back, but Euyeur continues, pushing his hair back and pointing to a faded scratch across his forehead. “This? I didn’t fill his glass of water fast enough.” He then turns around and pulls his shirt up his back, showing the grossest and deepest whip mark that Sollux has seen- he vaguely remembers seeing it in the showers, but being too caught up in his own world to give it much thought. It still looks like it’s perpetually bleeding, crusted with dark, bloody scabs and swollen with infection. “I spilled hot chocolate on his gaudy fucking cape!”

          “You’re lying.”

          Euyeur’s hands start shaking. “He’s a fucking psycho! You know he wants to exterminate us? I’ve seen his plans, he thinks we’re rats, dirty fucking rats.”

          Sollux tries to jerk his wrists away, but they’re in an iron clamp. “He used to be like that,” he says in a low voice, like if he speaks quietly enough, it will cover up all the holes in his theories on why Eridan is not a genocidal, casteist, unstable psychopath. “He’s older now, and he’d never…”

          Euyeur snorts and strokes over his wound before letting his shirt fall back down. “What, he’d never hurt you? What are the scars on your face from, huh? I’m willing to bet some good money on what.”

          Sollux chomps down on his lip, drawing a drop of blood, and squeezes his hands into tight balls. “That was before,” he says, voice cracking.

          “And now he doesn’t think you’re a dirty slave?”

          “I don’t need your fucking approval, he’s _my matesprit_!”

          “Get a grip, Captor, he’s your master, and he damn well knows it!”

          Sollux finally gets the means to explode with psionic power, throwing the other slaves off of him and lunging forward to grab Euyeur by the scruff of his shirt, tightening his grip until the fabric winds around his fingers and they turn white from lack of circulation. “He _loves_ me,” Sollux hisses, spitting in his face and dropping him unceremoniously. “And I love him.”

         There’s silence in the room for a minute, not shocked or awkward, but the words ‘I love him’ keep echoing around and around until they become embarrassing, and one slave clears his throat.

         “Go sleep with him then,” he says. “Pack your stuff up and get out. I’m sick of hearing about this- it’s stupid, you’re stupid, Prince Ampora’s even more stupid, and you’re going to be put through hell if anybody finds out about this back home, but I don’t care. I just want to sleep.”

         Sollux stomps over to start stuffing his backpack full of the few scattered belongings he has: the comb on the countertop, Eridan’s ring that’s balanced on the ridge of the bunk, the socks that he fumbled off before bed, and the big fluffy blanket that Eridan left behind the day before.

         “Whatever,” he mutters, slinging the backpack over his shoulder and turning to leave.

 

         The doorbell is deafening in the silence, even from the outside, and Sollux bites his lip thinking about how badly he’s jolting Eridan from his sleep. It takes a minute before a gravelly voice comes over the intercom, seething with disdain.

         “The fuck d’ya want?”

         “Hey, it’s me.”         

         The sigh that Eridan breathes into the intercom overwhelmes it with static. “Fuck off. I’m tryin’ to sleep an’ I’m super tired.”

         “Just let me in.”

         “Fuck off.”

         “I got kicked out again.”

         “Your own fuckin’ fault.”

         Sollux digs the heel of his shoe into the toes of his other one. It’s a habit that he enjoys, if only because the black shoe and the white shoe look like chess pieces battling. “I’ll cuddle you. You know you’ll sleep better if I’m in bed with you.”

         The intercom shuts off, and only a few seconds later, Eridan opens the door, looking more tired and disheveled than Sollux has seen him. He’s in a t-shirt, still with the same bloodied bandages wrapped around his wrists, though the tape has peeled from showers and the patches of blood have blossomed out and darkened to black with oxidation, but new, fresh violet spots well from the cuts. On his other wrist, the tape is completely curled, and Sollux can tell that the bandages have been taken off and stuck back on multiple times.

         His hair is a complete mess, frizzy and dull and sticking up at odd angles; his eyes have dark, puffy bags under them and the corners are stained with the residue of watery violet tears. Creases have settled between his eyebrows from a day of furrowing them, and there are ink spots on his fingertips.

         He turns away before Sollux can continue looking at him, mumbling something about locking the door and sighing as he collapses back into bed. Sollux drops his backpack down on the ground and shuffles over to the bed, wrapping himself around Eridan’s back, one hand behind his head, the other curled around to grasp his matesprit’s hand, and as soon as he starts to leave a trail of kisses down his neck, he realizes that Eridan is already asleep, long, heavy breaths going with the slow rise and fall of his chest.

         When it catches up to Sollux that he thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the other half of his brain- he’s called it Blue Half, the half that isn’t a lovesick puppy dog and is much more objective and reasonable, and also the half that Sollux has pinpointed as the half that makes him think he’s better than everybody, while Red Half is a self-loathing and schmoopy douchebag- laughs at him, because he’s so stupid, and he’s completely shameless and possibly a bit creepy, resting his head on Eridan’s shoulder to get a better view of the angles of his face, how his brows stay furrowed and his lips stay drawn into a purse.

         He’s glad he stays up those extra few minutes, however, because it means that he can see Eridan push his wrist across his face and drag his razor sharp teeth against the skin that he reveals from biting the bandages off, ripping the scabs off and digging even deeper trails into his scratches.

         The last thing that Sollux wants to do is wake Eridan up when he’s so tired, but no- that isn’t right- the last thing that Sollux wants to do is let Eridan hurt himself again. Gently as he can, he eases Eridan’s wrist away from his teeth, thumbing over the wound and smearing wet lines of blood across their arms.

         Eridan mumbles something that sounds a lot like ‘dirty gutter,’” shifting around, trying to get his teeth back on his wrists. Luckily, the weakness that comes with sleep makes him completely ineffectual, slurring some sounds out while Sollux keeps only a gentle hold on his forearm.

         “Dun’… touch me,” Eridan murmurs, shaking his wrist free more aggressively, and, when he doesn’t manage to get it out of Sollux’s hands, starts writhing around, thrashing his legs and kicking Sollux multiple times.

         “ _Eridan_ ,” he says, giving his wrist a tight squeeze to wake him up.

         What he gets in return is a powerful shove of Eridan’s elbow right into his hipbone, and, had he been standing, the force of it would have caused him to immediately double over. “I told you, I’m fuckin’ tired,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Let me sleep or go lay on the fuckin’ floor, fuckin’ animal.”

         “Yeah sure, I’ll let you bite all your scabs off. That would be really matesprit-like of me,” he pauses when he sees confusion knit itself into Eridan’s brows. “You keep hurting yourself in your sleep.”

         Eridan sighs and pushes a pillow over his head, such that his words are hardly audible when he says, “I know, I do it when I’m awake too.”

         A tremor rolls through Sollux’s gut. “Do what? You… hurt yourself?”

Eridan pokes his head out from under the pillow and chews the inside of his lip. “No, it’s not like… it’s just cause a’ stress. Just let me sleep, okay?”

         Sollux strokes the bleeding wounds again. “Tell me what’s going on,” he whispers, though it comes out like ice.

         “Fuck _off_ , I’m so tired.”

         “It’ll make you feel better if you talk about it, I know you.”

         Eridan thrashes and jabs to get Sollux’s skin apart from his own, slamming the pillow back over his ears. “Sollux, just fuck off!” he screams, voice laced with frustration like he’s on the verge of tears, and it echoes through the room.

         Sollux wiggles closer and wraps his matesprit in his arms, stroking the length of his neck. “Alright, alright, go to sleep,” he whispers.

 

         When he wakes up, the only traces of Eridan are smears of blood all over the sheets, violet puddles darkened with time and soaked deep into Sollux’s shirt. He’s not so sure of the feelings that happen inside of him- whether they’re red or pale or just because he cares about Eridan, but he wants to slap himself for letting it happen, he wants to slap Eridan for doing it, and he has this intense burning curiosity to spit in the face of whatever is causing it.

* * *

   <> OF 1ST MATE [input.data(override)>TA] sent a log to 1ST MATE [input.data(override)>CA]

TA: ...are you okay? look, ii'm 2orry about ha22liing you. obviiou2ly ii don't want 2ee you iin paiin blah blah <3 <3.   
CA: i hate you im SO FUCKIN TIRED just fuck the hell off   
TA: okay, yeah, ii kiind of de2erve that. can you at lea2t tell me what'2 goiing on?   
CA: no   
TA: fuck iit, why do you have two be 2uch a drama queen all the tiime?   
CA: maybe because you keep inconvveniencin me an poppin in my block wwhen ivve spent all day bustin my ass to the point a maximum fatigue youre such a textbook fuckin selfish land dwweller you knoww that right   
TA: eheheh yeah ii gue22 ii am both of tho2e thiing2.   
TA: ii'm 2tiill free for cuddle2 after 10 iif you need <3.   
CA: i dont havve time sol ivve been tryin to explain this to you   
CA: im preparin for fuckin WWAR i could fuckin die by the end a this wweek so YES its stressin me out its not like the wwhole fuckin strategies fall on me or nothin an i could lose us a wwhole fuckin planet an a wwhole battallion full a sick ass soldiers an its completely not like this is basically my initiation that wwill determine howw fit i am to be a navvy officer ay kay ay the next 3500 swweeps a my life   
TA: ii thiink you're beiing a biit overdramatiic here, but okay, don't get your2elf kiilled plea2e.   
CA: fuck off thats fuckin rude as all dirtshit you knoww damn wwell im tryin my best here id like for you to showw just a wwee smidgen a faith in me consider it a basic matesprit thing   
TA: can we ju2t not fiight, ii don't have the mental or emotiional energy for thii2.   
CA: im statin my opinion if you dont like it you can dump me   
TA: ii'm dumpiing you.   
CA: wwait no i didnt mean it   
TA: ii'm ju2t fuckiing wiith you. <3 ii'm liike your troll bruno mar2, ii'm ob2e22iively infatuated wiith you to a po22iibly unhealthy level.   
CA: WWRONG the only unhealthy thing is my sick booty   
TA: yeah work iit priince ehehehe, 2hake that a22 iin thii2 diirectiion, lemme cue up 2ome mu2iic two get you goiing.   
TA: wubwubwubwubwubwubwubwub.   
Sexbuster Kiss Cardigan: hips like HIPS ass lookin extraneous bet you can measure it wwith pi*2radius   
Pancake Moses Cream Cream: dont evver speak a wword a this to anybody nobody can evver knoww that im laughin like a fuckin idiot doin gross ass slam poetry   
Heftyheart Doe Savior: baby ju2t come on over here, ii'll fly you riight out of the 2trato2phere.   
Purebeam Whip Steam: i think you mean exosphere but ill let it pass wwhen youre complimentin me on such a great ass   
Spirit of the Bunny's Caress: 2orry, ii'll fly you two the moon and let you play among the 2tar2, oh 2hiit that'2 not my 2hiitty 2lam poetry, that'2 frank 2iinatra'2.   
Kiwifruit Tart Bible: thats scientifically impossible though, the vvaccum of space wwould fuck you up until you looked like a fuckin vvan gogh   
Mini Moustache Pistachio Kitten: well excuse me for wantiing two fiill your heart wiith 2ong and let you 2iing forever more, ju2t tryiing two cheer you up becau2e you're all ii long for all ii wor2hiip and adore.   
Mimi Woo Cakesicle: wwhat do you mean can you tell me in other wwords im not sure im gettin it   
Franklux Captatra: well iin other word2, plea2e be true.   
Bouncy Castle of the Heart: in other wwords...? im still not gettin it   
Mumu Smoochwrinkle: iin other word2, ii love you.   
Pashmina Periwinklepuss: thii2 whole conver2atiion pretty much 2hat all over my diigniity liike a deviious piigeon FUCK you'd better be at lea2t 2miiliing riight now or 2omethiing or ii'll pry your kii22able plump liip2 iinto a 2miile wiith plyer2.   
Lightly Seasoned Sweet Potato Fry: :) yeah i am   
Son of Many Rainbow Doves: <3 thanks

* * *

 

          The night consists of Sollux doing nothing but laundry and dishwashing, slouching in a completely cool and nonchalant way that speaks miles of “I totally just recited Frank Sinatra to my sad and stressed boyfriend to cheer him up and he didn’t immediately leave me and thus our relationship is better than your relationship”, and humming gently to himself the dubstep that was in his mind as his fingers concocted what must have been the worst excuse for a rap battle in all of paradox space. Every half hour, one of the supervisors comes around and either tells him to keep up the decent work, or kicks him in the back of the knee, causing him to fumble the porcelean dish in his hands and catch it at the very last second in a flurry of red and blue.

          With the gentle night, Sollux has the energy to spend the last remnants of night lounging in his berth with his husktop on his stomach, working on a small upgrade to a newly released game. He’d given up viruses a while back, after realizing that there’s nothing enjoyable about them when he’s lost his only virus-sharing-buddy. In fact, it makes him physically ill to use ~ATH anymore.

          He’s in the middle of importing some files when Euyeur comes in, black eyed and limping, lip split down the middle and trembling.

          “Fall down the stairs again?” Sollux says cooly, not even turning his head away from his screen.

          “Fuck off, Captor,” Euyeur says weakly. His voice is shaking, and from his peripheral vision, he can see Darzey help him up to his bunk. “He’s your fault; you’re not good enough for him.”

          Sollux chuckles to himself, hammering away at his keyboard. “You realize that sentence makes no fucking sense, right?”

          “Fucking swimmer brat called me to bring softer towels,” Euyeur continues, talking mainly to his douchey friend, but loud enough that everybody can hear. “So I did. And I went to put them in the bathroom, and he was sitting in the ablution trap, and he just… lost it on me.”

          “Maybe you shouldn’t creep on him when he’s taking a bath, dumbass,” Sollux says.

          “You know, he’s got this nasty disfiguring scar over his side. It looks like half his gills melted, it’s disgusting.”

          Sollux’s typing stops, bringing a level of silence to the room. His fists curl, but he squeezes his eyes shut to try and calm himself down. He doesn’t want to fight- he hasn’t the energy for a black romance, nor does he think that Euyeur would make anything of a satisfying kismesis, judging by how easily he folds with the slightest spark from Sollux’s eyes.

          “So I can see why he got mad, I guess, like it’s probably humiliating for a sea dweller to have fucked up gills. Captor, does it bother you that I’ve seen his naked body?”

          Sollux’s nails dig into palms, and, condering he has hardly anything in the way of fingernails, his fists are almost cramped from being balled up so tightly, his willpower stretched to the absolute tautness of sanity. Through gritted teeth, he hisses, “Do you _want_ another black eye?”

          One of the slaves from the top bunk sighs loudly enough to echo. “Would you two stop hateflirting and kiss or something? I’m sick of your shitty attempts at baiting each other.”

          Euyeur scoffs. “It’s not about him, it’s about _fucking Ampora_. I hate him- I hate him so much!”

          Sollux resumes his typing. “Get over it, asshole. If you’re going to keep shitting your diaper over him, I’ll gladly be the one to ogle his naked body in the ablution trap.”

          “If you want to lose you lunch, go ahead.”

          Again, the typing stops, and this time, Sollux turns to look across the room at Euyeur, who is propped up on his elbows in his berth. “Look, douchenozzle,” he states, “Eridan is fucking gorgeous, and you should be twisting your nipples in thanks for seeing his bo-“

_\--Just get in spades with me already.--_

         Sollux stops and presses a finger to his temple. “Did you just flat-out ask me to be your kismesis?”

         Euyeur grabs the curtains to his berth and flings them back. “What? No!”

_\--Fuck, can he read minds, oh God, fuck.--_

         “I can’t read minds, what are you talking about?”

_\--Get out of my head oh shit, get it out get it out get it out!—_

         Sollux shakes his head, trying to return to his coding, but he keeps hearing snippets of Euyeur’s voice and he realizes that they’re in his head. His first thought is that Euyeur is telepathic and can talk in other people’s minds, and he tries to tune it out and answer the text from Eridan. He hopes that Euyeur can only talk in his head and not read his mind, only because as soon as he sees that quirk on his screen, he becomes acutely aware that he hasn’t ever seen Eridan’s naked body, and that it does sort of bother him.

 

1ST MATE [input.data(override)>CA] sent a log to <> OF 1ST MATE [input.data(override)>TA]

CA: hey im done all my shit for the day finally do you wwant to cuddle i need my cuddles or im gonna be a true grumpy gills accordin to fef   
TA: uh, can ii a2k you 2omethiing?   
CA: sure does it invvolvve my rigorous cuddle routine an howw i manage to keep such a strict schedule WWELL ill havve you knoww it takes a ton of bustin my pale ass   
TA: no, and nevermiind, iit'2 fuckiing dumb.   
CA: awwww   
TA: would you ever con2iider 2howiing me, uh, liike   
TA: FUCK no thii2 ii2 two 2tupiid.   
CA: awwww come on tell me   
TA: would you ever want two let me 2ee liike uh...   
TA: your naked body?   
CA: ww    
CA: wwhat   
TA: ii 2aiid iit wa2 2tupiid, ii can't beliieve ii even 2aiid that, why ii am 2uch a retard, ii do not know.   
CA: its that FUCKIN DIRTVVEIN ISNT IT   
TA: uhh, maybe a biit?   
CA: I FUCKIN TOLD HIM THAT IF HE EVVER TOLD ANYBODY I WWOULD GUT HIM LIKE A FUCKIN FISH   
TA: eriidan.   
CA: oh god i wwanna crush all his FUCKIN BONES   
TA: eriidan, calm down.    
TA: eriidan?   
TA: ed?   
TA: fuck.   
CA: and i thought you wwere gonna to STOP FUCKIN CALLIN ME THAT i get it howw fuckin rancourous wwhat a great pun 'ehehehe'   
TA: dude, ii diid NOT mean iit liike that, ii've been calliing you that 2iince way before ii knew about your 2ciientiifiic quote "erectiile dy2functiion" 2ciientiifiic unquote.   
CA: WWELL FUCK JUST CALL IN THE FUCKIN CIRCUS AN GET THEM TO STRIP ME DOWWN AND SHOWW OFF YET ANOTHER VVOMIT INDUCIN PART A MY HIDEOUS BODY   
TA: oh my god you know ii thiink you're 2exy a2 ball2, 2top beiing 2uch a drama queen.   
CA: well apparently you noww knoww ivve got some disgustin mutilation under this shirt thanks to fuckin shitblooded mud pie   
CA: im gonna FUCKIN KILL HIM   
TA: ERIIDAN.   
TA: 2HOO2H. <>

          Eridan doesn’t respond after that, even when Sollux sends off a few more messages, giving him a characteristic sinking feeling in his gut, and he realizes what should have been plainly obvious before- that Euyeur isn’t telepathic. He’s just another doomed soul.

          The door to the slave bunkers is solid steel, heavy with no windows in it, and there’s no lock. The slaves have taken to sliding the giant steel filing cabinet (which is so rusted and beat up that Sollux assumes it’s only there because nobody knows where to put it. Some of the slaves are using it as an impromptu dresser, which Sollux would join in on, if he had more than three shirts) in front of the door during the day so that they can sleep safer. Sollux is fairly certain that it is, in part, due to them hearing Eridan come in some days.

          The door is also impossible to force open without turning the handle, or so Sollux thought, until he hears a deafening bang, and another and another, and the door flies open, showing in it’s archway a shadowed silhouette that looks like it belongs in a cartoon accompanied by lightning strikes: high collar, swishing cape, and Sollux’s stomach sinks even further.

          _\--Oh my God please help me oh my God please--_

          Sollux reacts before Eridan can even get a step forward, jumping off the bunk and shouting, “Eridan wait-“, but Eridan is already on the ground next to his slave’s bunk, and wrenches him down by a fistful of his hair.

          Euyeur shrieks when his back connects with the linoleum, immediately scrambling back against the wall like a trapped bug, which should have given Sollux a second to grab onto Eridan, but something makes him hesitate- something in the way that Eridan’s eyes are flaming and his snarl is twitching in overflowing anger- and Sollux is ashamed to even think it, but he hesitates because he’s scared that Eridan will wheel around and punch him.

          Instead, Sollux stares dumbly as Eridan steps on his slave’s face, driving his head to the ground, and starts grinding his heel into his throat while the Euyeur chokes and wheezes.

_\--He’s going to kill me why aren’t you doing something you’re supposed to be my friends oh God Captor I’m so sorry if you can hear this I just thought that if you were my kismesis then you could make him leave me alone I’ll do all your work for the rest of the trip please please just help me--_

          The rest of the slaves are peering over the edges of their bunks, curious but cautious, trying to stay relatively hidden while still getting a good view. It makes Sollux a bit sick, but he’s also certain that he would do the same. There’s something so thrilling about violence, and while Sollux doesn’t consider himself to be particularily ferocious, there’s just something in a troll’s nature that makes the bloodlust come to life.

          Maybe he wants Eridan to stomp out his slave’s life. Maybe he wants to watch him writhe like a worm while Eridan’s foot suffocates him. Maybe Eridan’s taunts of “you wanna fuckin’ go against my orders, you filthy mud-pumpin’ gutterblood?”, “spittin’ out your slander, cheap dirty mongrel?”, and especially, “you’ve been givin’ Sol shit, I oughta peel your fuckin’ skin off for bein’ such a flagrant stain on this universe” make Sollux’s lips quirk in the slightest bit of a fiendish smile.

          Euyeur makes a soft noise in the back of his throat that sounds almost like the squeak of the bedframes; his eyes start to glaze and his body tenses, and just like that, Sollux snaps out of his daze- he’s Eridan’s moirail, for fuck’s sake- and he lunges forward to grab Eridan as soon as his psionics lift his foot up. From the corner of his eye, he sees Darzey jump off the top bunk and fly out the door in a blur of his yellow and purple shirt. Eridan almost moves to stop him, but his focus is only briefly tampered with, and it is immediately turned back to Sollux.

          “Eridan, _stop_ ,” he orders in a low growl that gets almost completely covered up by Euyeur sputtering and gasping for air. Once he sees Eridan’s eyes go dark and challenging, a fear fills his guts and he starts backtracking. “Shh, shush, calm down.”

          Naturally, Eridan tries to fight against the psionics restraining him, but Sollux is focused and clear headed, meaning that they don’t even give a millimetre. “Let me go, you fuckin’ gutter-bred trash; I’ve got every right to cull him!” he screams, trying to claw at his moirail-matesprit, making no headway with the wrought-iron psionics binding him.

          Sollux hurls Eridan out the door, probably far too aggressively, sending him skidding across the hallway and banging into the door to the female slave bunker, baring his fangs in rage and wheeling up to charge back in, and tackle Sollux to the ground, cracking the red lens of his glasses against the linoleum and twisting a hand in his hair to bash Sollux’s forehead against the bedpost hard enough to distort the voice in his head and make him see quadruple.

          He’s so shaken that he can’t stand up without immediately collapsing back down, and he clings to the bedframe to stop himself from falling over, seeing two scenes in each eye of Eridan grabbing his struggling slave. Sollux attempts to use psionics, but, with his hammering head, all he manages to do is send a sputtering of ineffectual sparks in every which direction.

          -- _He’s going to do it help me help me please I swear I’ll do anything I’ll never say anything bad again just please please don’t let me die here I’m only twelve sweeps—_

          Weak in the knees and spinning in the head, Sollux lets go of the bedposts, staggering forward, praying to the clouds that he’s aiming for the correct Eridan out of the four Eridans in his eyes, and falls forward onto Eridan’s back, mashing his face into the high collar and wrapping his arms firmly around Eridan’s middle, and makes a feeble attempt to drag him away from Euyeur.

          “Eridan—Eridan, please,” he pants, clinging to Eridan despite the sea dweller vehemently trying to shake him off, nearly blind from the static in his brain and the fluttering of violet fabric in his eyes, he’s forced to rely on feeling Eridan’s body, and the sharp grip on his wrists send a wave of confidence through Sollux that he has at least managed to get Eridan’s hands off of his slave, but instead, they’re on him and…

His claws are impossibly long, and impossibly sharp, tearing right through Sollux’s skin half an inch deep, making him scream out in pain, doubly so when Eridan starts wiggling them around, ugly mustard coloured blood flooding down the length of his fingers, and even though Sollux tries to hang onto Eridan and hold him back because if he lets Eridan cull his slave, Sollux is certain that he’ll go off the deep end for good, the pain is too much and he folds, wrenching his arms away with a hardly concealed cry, Euyeur’s voice still swarming his brain with screams of,

          _\--No no don’t let it hurt don’t just stand there I thought you were my friends I trusted you just please stop him somebody please I don’t deserve to die I just wanted him to stop beating on me please—_

Eridan shakes some blood off of his fingertips, and Sollux screams for him to calm down, but it only takes a split second for his claws to be around his slave’s head, one on the jaw, one of the forehead, and

          -- _Oh god he’s going to do it please please don’t do this please I don’t want to d_ —

          Sollux’s head goes dead silent, the only sound being the echoing of the crack from Euyeur’s neck being snapped and the buzzing of fluorescent lights.

          Eridan stands still for a minute after Euyeur’s legs fold under him, panting and shaking. Instead of letting his rage trickle down into something else, Eridan takes one look at all the yellow blood splattered over his hands and clothes and slowly turns around to face Sollux, fire in his eyes and this look on his face- distant and cold, like he’s possessed by something. Sollux swears that his iris’ are almost red- his face is dark and flush, his hands trembling with fury, leaving Sollux with no choice but to back away until he’s trapped against the wall, Eridan’s cold breath up against his jaw.

          He’s seen the colour drain from Eridan’s face before. During one of Sollux’s visits- the same one in which he blasted a hole through his leg, they had been playing an intense game of checkers whilst simultaneously watching a History channel special on Gamblignants, which was full of very biased commentary from Eridan on how they’re nothing but a bunch of wannabe sea dweller hags, and a lot of Sollux snapping at him to focus on the game of checkers and a load of teasing Eridan about his infatuation with his and Vriska’s ancestors. Right before Sollux was about to eliminate Eridan’s second last black checker (Eridan is always black, and Sollux is always red), there had been a series of cracking noises and a shrill whinny, followed by banging, and Eridan had shot up, sending the checkers skittering across the wooden floors, only giving Sollux a split second to witness his face: pale as a rainbow drinker, eyes rounded to saucers, lips parted like he had begun to gasp but abandoned the idea, and brows knit with such fear that Sollux could practically hear his heart hammering.

          Sollux remembers sprinting after Eridan, having the fear permeate himself second-hand, to find Seahorsedad cowering behind a doorframe, peering into the tidy room that Eridan kept for storing his collection of antique firearms, which was meticulously organized save for the circus-coloured oversized pistol smoking on the ground and the three holes blasted into the wall.

          And Sollux can still remember how Eridan’s eyes had grown even wider and he almost killed Sollux and his lusus with the force at which he threw them down the hall, barely saving the three of them from the fourth blast of the clown gun before clamping a hand on Sollux’s shoulder and begging him to use his psionics to help him disarm the Mirthpistol.

          Sollux had tried to argue that he should do it alone, being able to disarm an apparently sentient and capricious pistol from a safe distance, but Eridan is not one to listen to arguments, and ran off into the gun room first, leaving Sollux to chase after him and keep the gun aimed out the window as Eridan wrestled it back into the triple locked case that it had come in.

         

          Point being, Sollux has seen Eridan get scared over a bunch of things- stains on his clothes, losing his jewelry, tall skinny villains in video games, the ratio of milk:water being wrong in his hot chocolate- but when Eridan is truly scared, he goes white.

          Eridan goes white. Hands clinging onto Sollux’s wrists, about to scratch them or twist them or break them, panting against the side of Sollux’s face, Eridan’s face morphs from a foreign, glazed over snarl of anger to the pale-as-a-ghost, wide-eyed look, like he’s pleading some higher force in his mind, and he immediately drops Sollux’s wrists and slows down completely, sobering up from his frenzy, clinging onto Sollux’s shoulders, not for violence, but for protection.

          “Oh god,” he whispers breathlessly, “Oh my god, Sollux, I- no, no no _no_ -”

          Sollux frees up his hands to wrap around his matesprit and pull him into a tight hug, staying silent except for quiet shushing and stroking of his hair.

          “I didn’t mean to—I-!” Tears start to flood into the front of Sollux’s shirt as Eridan’s voice weakens and wavers and his trembles get almost unbearable, to the point where Sollux is sure that they’re going to vibrate right through the floor. “I… I told him not to tell you about…I… I had every right to…”

 “It’s okay,” Sollux lies, tucking Eridan into his chest. “It’s okay.”

          He lets Eridan sob into his shirt for a long while, running fingers through his hair and stroking the back of his hand, kissing his forehead like he’s seen Feferi do before.

          “What’s wrong with me?” Eridan asks, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to kill him—I…”

          Sollux kisses his forehead, and slides down the wall until he’s sitting cross-legged and coaxes Eridan to curl up in his lap. “You’re a—“ _highblood; it’s in your nature_ , he means to say, but catches himself just in time. “Nothing is wrong with you; it’s just how you were raised. How we were raised.”

          “I can’t keep hurtin’ you, Sol, I can’t.”

          Sollux squeezes him. “It’s not really your fault. You don’t mean to.”

          “But I hurt you.”

          The open door creaks, and Sollux glances over to see Darzey clinging to the captain’s- his moirail’s- arm, cautiously peering over and letting out a muffled choke when he sees Euyeur crumpled on the ground, eyes glazed and slack-jawed, with his neck twisted at an odd angle.

          When they enter the room, Sollux becomes acutely aware of the several pairs of eyes fixed on himself and Eridan, warm-hued irises all peering over the edges of their berths.

          The captain is cautious when he speaks, keeping his distance and not letting Darzey step in front of him. “Eridan?” he asks. “Are you pacified?”

          Eridan buries his face in Sollux’s chest and gives a muffled grunt in response, palming at the back of Sollux’s shirt in some sort of hand language that must make perfect sense to him, but translates to a series of pats and slaps. “Can you please just give us some time alone?” he snaps, praying that that was what Eridan was attempting to convey with his bizzare pat-language. The squeeze he gets in return assures him that he chose well.

          “Maybe you should go back to Eridan’s quarters in that case,” the captain says, stealing glances towards the corpse lying on the floor. He moves closer to where Sollux and Eridan are huddled against the wall and crouches down. “I’ll take care of… _that,_ kay? Just make sure that you get all calmed down.”

          Sollux looks up to meet the captain’s eye, and is surprised to find genuine concern in them, obviating Sollux’s innate desire to argue. “Come on,” he mutters to Eridan, coaxing him up to stand. “I’d carry you if it wouldn’t immediately cause my stringy, atrophied legs to liquefy like dog shit on the side of a desert highway.”

          Eridan snorts through his tears, crudely wiping the drops from his cheeks with his sleeve and letting himself be guided by the waist until they slam the heavy wood door shut behind them and collapse on the couch.

           Eridan immediately curls his knees to his chest, pushing his sleeves back and rubbing at his scabs, which have crusted remnants of dark blood ebbing at the corners from picking at them repeatedly. Sollux lays his palm over the back of his matesprit’s hand, large swells of mustard coloured blood threatening to drip. He gives a tiny laugh and says, “We match.”

          “I’m allowed to cull my slave,” Eridan breathes, looking up with pleading eyes. “I’m… I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

          Sollux sighs, heaving in his chest a bit too strong to hide the fact that he is disappointed in Eridan- he knows, goddamn it, he knows that Eridan can’t control himself, that he’s a highblood and highbloods are wound so tightly that they snap on occasion, and he knows that a sea dweller culling their slave over disobeying an order is perfectly normal, admirable even, but the stinging in Sollux’s forearms nags at him and reminds him that he could have been that slave. “Slaves get culled all the time, yeah.”

          “I’m sorry for scratchin’ you, Sol.”

          Sollux looks up at his matesprit’s face for some clue as to how he means his apology- sincere or begrudging- because Eridan doesn’t seriously apologize very often, but his expression is distant, and his words are soft, ghosting across the room and tired; his thumb moves to stroke the back of Sollux’s hand.

          Sollux shrugs and trods off to the hygiene block, finding the medikit in the same spot that he left it in after the Glasshollow incident, and bringing it back to the couch. “Nothing a few band-aids can’t fix, don’t worry about me.” He starts inwinding the last remnants of Eridan’s ineffectual bandages. “I’m re-bandaging this though; if you need stress relief, I’ll get you one of those squishy balls.”

          “Squish my sweaty shame globes,” Eridan mutters, holding his arms out and sniggering. “Clean me up an’ then I’ll do you.”

          “I can do myself,” Sollux insists once the fresh bandages are wound around Eridan’s arms, taped up twice as firmly, but Eridan shakes his head and springs up, rifling around in his suitcase and telling Sollux to close his eyes.

          There’s the sound of fabric rustling, some paper fluttering and what might be the pop of a marker being uncapped, all of which makes sense once Sollux is told to open his eyes and finds Eridan pantless, with a white button up around his waist and black socks hiked up to his knees, plus a paper hat with a giant red plus sign in a shoddy representation of the naughty nurse costume that Sollux had once joked about.

          “I’m gonna make you so much better,” Eridan giggles, jumping up Sollux’s lap like an overenthusiastic puppy dog- which is surprising, not just given the circumstances, but given _any_ circumstance with Eridan imaginable (though he’s not about to complain)- and starting to wipe down his wrists with alcohol and stick bandaids onto the cuts.

          By the time they’re both bandaged up, Sollux has almost forgotten about the corpse back in the slave bunker, or how he got the cuts at all, and channels all of his mental energy on floating a blanket over from the bed to the couch and wrapping them both up in it, cocooning their bodies together and rubbing Eridan’s back as Eridan kisses the band-aids and kisses them again, trying to erase them with his mouth.

          Long after they’ve silenced and relaxed on the couch, Eridan whispers, “You aren’t mad, are you?”

          Sollux hears him, but, unable to reconcile between the disappointed and accepting parts of his brain, pretends to be asleep.


	15. The “I Could Cull You’s” and the Mutinies Part 1 [I Could Cull You, But I Love You]

          A fascinating thing about anthropomorphic faces is their ability to convey a million different things with a single expression- for instance, in the category of smiles, there are ‘I’m glad to see you’ smiles, ‘I’m in pain but you made me laugh’ smiles, ‘How sweet of you’ smiles, ‘I was just joking when I insulted you’ smiles, ‘This kitten is so cute’ smiles, and a myriad of minute twitches of the muscles that each have their own code. For Eridan, however, the situation is slightly different. He has a million different frowns and scowls, thousands of unique snarls, ‘tsk tsk’ faces, disgust faces- because he uses them over and over again, which cannot be said for his smiles.

          Thus, Sollux has found that Eridan’s smiles can be lumped into only two groups (not that he’s thought about it- that would be silly). One of them is good- great even, his sweet, genuine smile where he doesn’t show his teeth, where his eyes crinkle up behind his glasses and his whole face lights up; it’s always welcome, and it is the exact opposite of his other smile.

          Thing is, he’s a sea dweller. He has jagged velociraptor teeth, which are just as threatening as a velociraptor’s (Sollux has scars on his back to testify their deadliness), and, well, rows of murder instruments jammed inside of a boy’s mouth aren’t exactly the cutest looking things.

          Not to say that a toothy smile from Eridan can’t be nice, when it’s accompanied by sparkling eyes and a laugh, that’s still good in Sollux’s books, but when Eridan is silently grinning like a psycho murderer, flashing his pearly whites when he should be fast asleep, it’s naturally quite alarming for his matesprit to wake up to.

          Doubly so when he is sitting up, staring at nothing in particular, prompting Sollux to scream something along the eloquent lines of:

          “Good fucking god- holy shit- what the fuck-!? You are the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my whole fucking life, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack, what the fuck are you even doing awake?!”

          Eridan grins wider, such that his face almost cracks in half and his eyebrows shoot straight up. “Whale’s belly,” he giggles. “Goin’ on a fuckin’ traaaain to the whale’s belly, baby.”

          “Are you drunk?”

          “You know what you need? Vitamins. Gummy bear vitamins.”

          “Are you asleep?”

          Eridan falls forward onto Sollux’s chest, still in his button up shirt and knee-high socks from a few hours ago, frame starting to heave with laughter. “No, no,” he snorts, “I’m just happy, Saaaw-lux.”

          Sollux shifts his gaze away from the shining pointy teeth and tentatively wraps his arms back around Eridan, more out of discomfort and fear than anything else, patting his back in an attempt to get him to breathe through his hysterical laughter. “Dude, you’ve got a screw loose.”

          More reverberating laughter. “I culled him.”

          Sollux goes cold. “Yeah, you did. You, uh, need to have a feelings jam or something?”

          “I could cull you.”

          “…yes, you could. In theory.”

          “I won’t.”

          “Thanks.”

          “But I could.”

          Sollux shifts underneath Eridan, but the cold breath doesn’t leave his neck. “I think you need to go back to sleep, you’re clearly overtired and it’s making you psychotic.”

          “What can you do if I don’t?”

          “Uh, nothing, you can do whatever the fuck you want, considering you’re a grown up and I’m not your lusus.”

          Eridan starts laughing again, and it’s enough to send chills right through Sollux’s bones, vibrating in his core through his skull and into his brain, echoing in every nerve. “If I tell you to go to bed- an’ you don’t- I can stick a fork through you, an’ everybody will come cuddle me, ‘cause it was your own fault for not obeyin’ me.”

          Psionics hum through Sollux’s fingertips to remind him that they’re at his disposal to shoot out as a last resort. Eridan is right on the edge of losing his nerve and Sollux knows for a fact that the tiniest bit of provoking will send him into a fit. Instead, he tries to get up to move, feeling crushed underneath his matesprit, whose weight is so often comfortable on his chest, but Eridan pins him down by the arms, slamming him back to the couch, and keeps smiling. Sollux’s heart skips a few beats.

          “Eridan…” he warns, though his voice is strained and close to cracking. _You aren’t actually going to cull me_ , _are you_? he wants to ask, and swallows to try and regain some composure, but his mouth is sticky and dry, throat struggling to take in a decent breath. “Eridan, get off me.”

          “You can’t make me, Sollux; you can’t make me do anythin’.”

          “Eridan, something is wrong with you.”

          “You disobey me,” Eridan hums, tracing a claw across Sollux’s throat a bit too hard for comfort- not enough to draw blood, but enough to scratch the first layers of flesh, “and I can cull you. I won’t, because I love you, but I could.”

          “Eridan,” Sollux repeats. “Get off me, or I’ll lift you off with my psionics.”

          Eridan grins and squeezes Sollux’s arms tighter. “Class 1 assault on a superior. Victim’s choice a’ punishment. I could cull you, again.”

          Sollux’s chest begins to tighten tenfold. He squeezes his eyes shut and whispers, “Eridan, you’re thcaring me, just- get off of me, pleathe,” cringing when his nervous lisp comes out so strongly. “I’ve got no interest in fighting you.”

          “Improper address to a superior.” Eridan weaves his fingers through his matesprit’s, giving his hand a squeeze, fingering right over the missing pinky nail. “Most common punishment is a strap across the back a’ the hand.” He nuzzles closer to whisper in Sollux’s ear, in words that come out to stab at Sollux’s brain in icicles, “Prince, he whispers, “Prince Eridan, Prince Ampora, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, Your Greatness… Sir, Master.”

          “You’re my best friend,” Sollux breathes, “and my matesprit.”

          “I know.”

          “And right now, you’re neither, and you need to get off of me.”    

          “That’s errin’ly commandin’ a’ you.”

          Sollux lets out a shaking sigh, and repeats for the last time, “Would you please let me sit up?”

          And just like that, a hundred and some pounds are lifted from Sollux’s chest, letting him have a small but welcome inch of space to himself. Eridan purses his lips and lies back down, pulling the blanket around his shoulders and burrowing deep into the pillows without a word, leaving Sollux to slink down to sit on the ground against the couch, heart hammering and completely confused. There’s no debate- he doesn’t want to get up on the couch, nor does he particularly want to fall asleep on the bed- in fact, the most appealing option is going back to the slave bunker where he knows he can slide an old file cabinet in front of the door.

         

          The rest of the slaves are mostly awake, sitting on the floor with an abandoned game of cards between them and the lights on when Sollux enters. Darzey’s gone, probably with his moirail, leaving only five trolls, two of which are sleeping.

          They look up when he enters, and one of them opens his mouth to say something, but the bags under Sollux’s eyes- fearful eyes, he assumes- and the defeated expression make him quiet and allow Sollux to crawl into his berth undisturbed.

 

          The next morning, Sollux wakes up aching from weariness, unsure if the events of the previous day were a dream or not, until his slave supervisor comes in with his female counterpart and the eleven female slaves and moirails in tow.

          “Guys, come sit down,” he says, and the female supervisor glares at him and snaps back, “Guys _and_ gals.”

          Sollux slams the pillow over his face and rolls over to face the wall, listening to the sounds of bed sheets rustling and feet hitting the floor.

          “Captor, you too. Especially you.”

          Sollux rolls his eyes and drags himself down to the floor, pushing his mess of bangs off of his sweaty forehead and almost falling flat on his face when his socks slide against the linoleum.

          Once the pile of them are cross-legged on the floor, the male slave supervisor slides an empty crate that once held their rations over to sit on. “So you probably know that we lost one yesterday. I don’t know the details, just that he did something to piss his owner off, and it’s going to set us back a ton not having an extra set of hands around here.”

          The female slave supervisor crosses her arms, still standing and looking a million feet tall from Sollux’s angle. “So we’d like to remind you that there are many ways to avoid getting culled.” She cracks open an old familiar book, The Young Alternian’s Survival Guide, and clears her throat before listing off tips. “It is always safer not to experiment with fashion. Accidental misrepresentation of blood colour is a major cause of culling.”

          She passes the book to the other supervisor, who picks up, reading to them like they’re children. “Always treat your superiors with respect and compliance, but don’t come across as weak. Studies show that trolls who display admirable traits such as independence, strength and cunning are more likely to be well-regarded by their superiors.”

          “Never badmouth your superiors. There is always the chance that you could be speaking with a moirail of your superior or a friend of theirs.”

          “When provoked, it is best to abscond immediately. Strifing is acceptable, but causing any injuries is a crime and may result in culling. Additionally, strifing may provoke them further.”

          “Remember: your superiors are superior for a reason. Caste is directly correlated with intelligence and leadership ability. Challenging authority goes against centuries of science and evolution and is against the law to ensure that misunderstandings do not arise. Though these stratifications may seem arbitrary at first, young Alternian, as you age, you will come to realize how important it is to ensure that long-lived and naturally authoritative highbloods occupy the duties involving more responsibility and training, while the lowbloods occupy duties more suited to their natural dispositions.”

          “You must always keep in mind that the goal is always to assure a brighter future for Alternia. From the Rust working in a factory to the Indigo directing a fleet, each troll plays an integral role in the expansion of the empire and creating a bigger, more powerful empire.”

          The male slave supervisor clears his throat and shuts the book. The spine creaks as he does so, and he slides it onto the countertop where it takes rest between a retainer case and a tub of lotion. “You’re all important, remember that,” he says, “without you guys,” he pats a plastic tub beside him, “these hundred navy uniforms wouldn’t get ironed.”

         

          Two hundred minor burns later, Sollux finds himself next to a rack of crisply ironed naval uniforms, black jackets with gold piping and candy red accents, tagged with symbols and names for their wearers, plus three white ones, one of which is tagged with the familiar wavy lines and has Sollux wishing that he had itching powder in his pocket.

          Half of him finds it unreasonable to be mad; Eridan is a highblood and highbloods go off on rampages; Eridan is stressed and stressed trolls do weird things, he was half asleep and probably didn’t mean it, technically Eridan never hurt him, but the other half is sick of the ups and downs, the emotional rollercoaster that he thought he was accustomed to, sick of the fear and the outbursts, though guilty in the same way- Eridan can’t help it, and he’s wired to say these things and do these things and be the death of Sollux no matter how much he tries to supress his violent urges.

          But, the other half says, it doesn’t mean that he has to be part of your life. He’ll find some highblood charmer that will get drawn in by his hemostatus and pretty face, off put by his bloodthirsty and melodramatic personality, and then, for some unknown reason, grow to love it and somehow find that when they’re with him, they try a little bit harder to make him smile than any of their other friends.

          His brain flickers back to weeks ago, getting drunk and laughing like wigglers, falling all over each other and cuddling while playing HIPS, and fuck, there’s no way in hell he can dump his matesprit when they get home and not feel regret for the next twenty sweeps.

          On some sort of cosmic queue, Sollux’s phone vibrates.

 

 

> 1ST MATE [CA] SENT A LOG TO <> OF 1ST MATE [TA]
> 
> CA: sol wwhere did you go last night   
>  TA: 2omewhere le22 threateniing.    
>  CA: wwhat do you mean wwas there a moth or somethin i knoww you fuckin hate moths   
>  CA: ill get my slavve to come in an hunt it dowwn i swwear id evven do it myself to ensure that my matesprit has a sleep undisturbed by the flapping wwiles of cocooned devvils   
>  TA: eheh what the fuck? ii am liiterally 2O confu2ed riight now, ii don't even know how two re2pond.   
>  CA: wwell moths flap an shit an they come from cocoons wwhich BY THE WWAY are different from the crysalis of a butterfly contrary to   
>  TA: 2hut the fuck up, that'2 not what ii mean. you don't have a 2lave.   
>  CA: yeah i do hes that wwiry one wwith the straww horns wwho wwears a bandana in that gross burnt orange color   
>  TA: are you fuckiing hiigh, you culled hiim la2t niight.   
>  CA: no   
>  TA: ye2??   
>  TA: and then you woke up iin the miidle of the day whii2periing about how you could cull me iif you wanted two. but ii'm glad you're back two normal now ii gue22??   
>  CA: noww wwhy in merlins beard wwould i evver say somethin that fuckin deplorable to somebody i have strong feelins a the red sort towwards OR cull my slavve AND not havve any memory of it WWHATSOEVVER   
>  TA: ii don't fuckiing know, probably becau2e you realiized what a fuckiing priick you were and are playiing dumb 2o that ii don't dump your preteniiou2 a22 a2 2oon a2 thii2 2hiip touche2 alterniian 2oiil?   
>  CA: im not playin dumb i literally have no recollection a this at all i remember cer took me to get my uniform fitted wwhich looks hot as hell you need to see it bee tee double you an then helped draft some invvasion plans then i took a nice bath an   
>  CA: things happened   
>  CA: an then   
>  CA: i think i texted you to ask you to come cuddle <3 did wwe get drunk again i dont remember cuddlin you but i remember sleepin on top a you at some point <3 <3 youre so wwarm an cozy <3 <3    
>  TA: you 2tared at a wall 2miiliing and piinned me two the couch when ii triied two get up liike ii wa2 a funny po2t and the couch wa2 your piintere2t blog.   
>  TA: except your piintere2t blog con2ii2t2 of nothiing but ca2teii2t threat2 agaiin2t your boyfriiend.   
>  CA: no i wwouldnt do that   
>  CA: i promised that id nevver pull anythin evven close to that thing that happened at the dinner with kan and fef an i meant it id nevver intimidate you or hurt you or pull class shit on you   
>  TA: well, you DIID, but whatever. iit'2 fiine. ii forgiive you, wiill you 2top thii2 fake iignorance thiing?   
>  CA: ITS NOT FAKE   
>  TA: god, you're 2o fuckiing annoyiing. iit'2 faker than your fake a22 magiic but WHATEVER, ju2t liike your dumb glowiing 2tiick2, ii don't giive a 2hiit about iit.   
>  CA: fuck off im havving troubles rememberin things an i dont need you insultin me ovver it   
>  TA: ii 2aiid iit'2 FIINE. whatever. ii'm not mad.   
>  CA: methinks you are    
>  TA: ii'm not, ju2t... ii've got to get back to iironiing. ii'll talk to you later.   
>  CA: :(   
>  TA: don't fuckiing 2ad face me.   
>  CA: :C your poor amnesiac boyfriend is facin a moral crisis a the wworst sort ovver the rumour that he may havve done somethin to offend you so yea hes sad facin you hes distraught at the vvery notion because his lovve is like a great tsunami ovvertakin the beaches a his rationality an floodin him with ardour   
>  TA: ii 2aiid iit'2 whatever, ii'm not mad.   
>  CA: can i make it up to you wwhatevver it wwas my evvil twwin did   
>  TA: okay, ii ju2t don't feel liike talkiing riight now, nothiing per2onal, ii've ju2t got a lot two do.   
>  CA: :T   
>  CA: (thats supposed to be me zippin my mouth up tight like cause you asked me to an im a VVERY accomodatin matesprit wwilin to make compromises for my PRODIGIOUS LOVVE havve a good night i lovve you <3)

 

          Prodigious love, Sollux snorts to himself, unable to let the term come to rest as ‘cute-nerdy’ or ‘bullshit-pandering’, letting it float instead as somewhere between the two as he gives a final puff of steam from the heavy iron, tightening the tag and hanging it up on the rack.

          Before letting anybody know that he’s finished, he moves behind the rack to fiddle with tags and pretend to straighten hemlines while he lets his mind drift off into the future, how he has to secure a kismesis by next sweep or maybe sooner (but oh, how he hates the relationship game), and what a fucking plague that’s going to be on Sollux’s underused social skills. Thinking of it makes him slightly remorseful for Euyeur’s culling- not that he was anything of a black crush, but he was easy, he was interested- admittedly, for the wrong reasons- and he could have relieved the premature stress and tension that grows the pits of Sollux’s gut thinking about the spades bucket getting shoved into his hands somewhere down the line.

          He thinks about how, in retrospect, he was almost culled this sweep, if not for Aradia’s bizarre ways of making things work, how he lost his flushed virginity to a friendly stranger while improv acting to avoid having a fork stuck in his gut, how his caliginous vir-

          ...How he misses the sound of bees humming around his ears when he lounges in his hive, the once infernal drone of them now gives him pangs of nostalgia for the sweet scent of honey that no longer clings to his clothes (leaving nothing to conceal how irregularly he showers), the groaning from up above of his greedy lusus calling for more mind honey and the bruises from strifing and the few instances in which he would sit down on Bicyclops’ feet and let himself be taught the finer nuances of how to reconcile the bifurcated halves of his brain, lessons that he finds himself wishing he listened more intensely to, now that he’s burning time pretending to work while one half of his brain or the other berates him in seething regret for every decision he’s ever made.

* * *

 

> The Captain of the ship [CAPTAIN] opened the log [CAPTAIN'S LOG]   
>  [CAPTAIN] made [CAPTAIN'S LOG] open to [GROUPING>>CREW], [GROUPING>>SOLDIERS] and [GROUPING>>MOIRAILS]   
>  [CAPTAIN] made [CAPTAIN'S LOG] closed to [GROUPING>>SLAVES] AND [GROUPING>>OTHER]
> 
>   
>  CAPTAIN: slaves & moirails & crew stay onboard xcept me & eridan. i'll b takin 1/2 of the soldiers & eridan + commandemolisher will take the other 1/2   
>  1ST MATE: wwho the fuck is the commandemolisher   
>  CMD: O_> Eye am   
>  CMD: O_> Eye helped draft OOur battle plans yesterday   
>  CMD: O_> By that eye mean that we will be landing tOO the nOOrth OOf the mOOuntains and caving the tunnel in tOO trap the enemies in the city   
>  CMD: O_> While the OOther half OOf the sOOldiers will begin the seige   
>  CMD: O_> Enemies are nOOt native tOO the planet but are the niveeye frOOm the OOthern empire   
>  CAPTAIN: niveii. niveus trolls. i think we all know what they look like.   
>  SOLDIER ID#963723: idon t.   
>  CAPAIN: lol dumbass kinda like trolls but shorter & with white skin/hair & no horns   
>  1ST MATE: wwere not doin a seige wwere doin a coup de main if you care to note   
>  1ST MATE: blast these fuckin aliens sky high until they surrender   
>  CMD: O_> Right   
>  CAPTAIN: k cool takin over a planet how xcitin!!   
>  SOLDIER ID#857322: Will I Die?   
>  CAPTAIN: uhh awkwaaaard.
> 
> 1ST MATE [input.data(override)>CA] sent a private log to <> OF 1ST MATE [input.data(override)>TA]
> 
> CA: i wwant to see you before i leavve if thats okay   
>  TA: what do you mean iif iit'2 okay, you're beiing 2urprii2iingly concerned about my boundariie2 twoniight.   
>  TA: fuck, ii don't mean that iin a 2hiity way, you're ju2t u2ually more entiitled.   
>  TA: ii diidn't mean that iin a 2hiity way eiither FUCK.   
>  CA: i think the wword your tryin to scope out is blithe cause i am i am one fuckin blithe ass bilge runner   
>  TA: yeah, let'2 pretend ii know what bliithe mean2 and go wiith that, you are very bliithe, 2chmoopykiin2.   
>  CA: so can i come see you i wwant to see you at least one last time before im gone   
>  TA: oh my god, you're beiing really 2pooky about all of thii2.   
>  CA: you knoww how kan is alwways talkin about her fate clouds wwhich i frankly deservve to be a part of and fef is alwways talkin about how glb wwhispers shit to her so she knowws the rough an general state a things in the future speakin   
>  CA: and then ara has her ghosts an you havve your vvoice things an it seems like evvery fuckin salt suckers got their oracles wwell i get bad feelins and i got a REALLY fuckin bad feelin so i think im gonna die   
>  TA: oh my god whoa, you're not goiing two diie.   
>  CA: i wwould like to be stuffed and hung on your mantle as a reminder that i wwas the most amazin matesprit a guy could evver ask for an youll nevver find somebody wwith a lovve as pure as mine is that okay   
>  CA: i wwould also ask that fef take care of my dad   
>  TA: ERIIDAN.   
>  CA: please havve my body dressed in the finest linens for my funeral an then wwhen you stuff me you can put me in a schoolgirl outfit if you so please just do not havve me in a midriff okay dead eri has boundaries still my body is a sacred place and DONT EVVEN THINK about gropin my corpse you may kiss me on the lips and cuddle me as much as you wwould like but my corpse nook wwill be vvery delicate so please no necrophillia   
>  TA: no.   
>  TA: thii2 ii2 not a real conver2atiion that we are haviing.   
>  CA: oh an if my hair decays i need you to get a custom lace front wwig i can link you some good sellers not that i knoww any or that i help fef disguise her wweavve   
>  TA: ff ha2 a weave?   
>  CA: no   
>  TA: hey 2hiiftiing the conver2atiion, can ii ma2turbate iin your room whiile you're gone?   
>  CA: oh my COD howw do you evven go through life being blunt as a fuckin rock   
>  TA: ii gue22 you can 2ay iit'2...   
>  TA: hard.   
>  CA: fuck you   
>  TA: 2o can ii though, becau2e ii've been 2o horny lately and there ii2 NO priivacy for 2lave2 ehehehe.   
>  CA: you are shockin an appalin sol i cannot BELIEVE the debauchery you instill wwithin evvery one a your taboo mustard letters   
>  CA: get your ass ovver here an lemme teach you some manners   
>  TA: are you offeriing two??   
>  TA: oh, fuck YE2.
> 
>  

 

* * *

 

Sollux manages to slide past the barriers of superiors by dropping Eridan’s name a few thousand times, making up a completely believable story about the prince requiring a pale pep talk before the battle and scuttling off, only to be handed Eridan’s crisply pressed uniform for delivery and to make sure it is to his liking.

He knocks once and the door opens, Eridan in his t-shirt with loosely bandaged wrists- he must have been scratching them again, fuck- but looking otherwise perfect, his normally deliberately tousled hair slicked neatly back and his nails filed into precise points and coloured black.    

Sollux does not hesitate in swooping in to deliver a deep kiss, trying not to look at the couch where he had been pinned down a few hours ago, and instead wrapping an arm around Eridan’s shoulders to pull them tightly together and get the leverage to jam his tongue down his matesprit’s throat with all the grace of a banana riding a skateboard, running his tongue along the sharp points of Eridan’s teeth and letting the forks in his tongue wrap around Eridan’s to stroke down the length of it, tasting salty spit that isn’t as unpleasant as it should be, pulling back to nibble at his lower lip until he draws out a shudder and a pleased sigh from Eridan, who breaks off their kiss to take in some air and lead him, by fingers woven between Sollux’s, to the bathroom onto the edge of the ablution trap.

“Put on your uniform,” Sollux pants, tossing the hanger at Eridan, who gives him a quick smooch to hold him over and ducks behind the curtains to change while Sollux pulls his shirt and belt off. When he stands up, he sees in the mirror his scarred back, and puts the shirt back on. “I want to watch, once you’ve got your shirt on,” Sollux calls, chuckle in his voice.

“One fuckin’ second, you honey mustard pervert,” Eridan calls from behind the curtain, and steps out dressed in a black undershirt- trimmed in gold, naturally- and his briefs. In one hand is a hanger with a jacket and pants, and in the other is a bright cherry red neck-something (cravat? weird ruffly tie? Sollux has no clue, but it’s silky and confusing as all hell).

Eridan thrusts the smooth fabric into Sollux’s tentative hands. “Help me with this, Sol, moirails are made for tyin’ ties an’ the like.”

It may as well be a Rubik’s cube in Sollux’s hands, but he’s a puzzle master and he is going to figure this shit out if it is with his dying hands.

Two “you’re fuckin’ chokin’ me- augh!”’s and four “maybe I should just do this myself”’s (and four “no, I’m going to do this!”’s) later, Sollux is admiring his perfect tie job and stepping back to let Eridan continue to dress himself.

The jacket goes on easy, with Sollux leaned against the wall, mumbling, “Pop that collar, babe,” and “Mmm, tuck your shirt in,” when the pants go on.

“Fuck off, Sol, I’m just tryin’ to get dressed here,” Eridan mutters, tugging at his lapels and getting a showy moan from Sollux.

“Oh, but baby-!” Sollux mock-protests, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. “The way you lace those boots is _so_ overwhelming.”

With a grumble, Eridan asks, “Gloves too?” and Sollux’s heat skips a beat because oh fuck, especially gloves, especially if he’s going to do that sea dweller thing where they put their rings on over the fabric they clink together and _oh, fuck_.

“Yes please,” Sollux says (fuck, that sounds terrible; he never says please), watching as Eridan finishes pulling his outfit together and smoothes the whole ensemble with his hands, dressed in the white jacket and pants- perfectly fitted to his body, which is painfully obvious, plus the candy red gloves and lapels, and absolutely dripping with tendrils of gold- gold piping in just enough places to add flair, a dozen gold rings over the red leather gloves, keeping them pulled taut over his fingers, emblazoned gold buttons, gold fasteners on his boots, a single gold medal pinned over the breast of the jacket with a violet ribbon, and gold lining evident when Eridan moves to nervously tug at his earfin when Sollux spends just a moment too long ogling and nearly lets a line of drool escape his mouth.

“That’s a nice uniform,” Sollux states dumbly. “Fuck, that is a _nice_ uniform.”       

Eridan rubs the top of his boot with his other foot, crossing his arms. The gloves squeak as he does so. “Do you have a fuckin’ boner from this actually? Sol, that is so fuckin’ weird.”

Sollux’s hand flicks the button on his pants. He’s still too staggered to speak, but can feel the squeeze in his heart when he sees Eridan’s face go flush and shy, biting his lip and giving a coy and nervous laugh.

Sollux wiggles his pants off on the way back to perch on the edge of the ablution trap and pats his thighs, urging Eridan to come sit on his lap, but Eridan shakes his head and smoothes the crease-free front of his white pants. “I don’t want to truck out to battle lookin’ like I just ate a fuckin’ sandwich. Could you maybe lie down or somethin’?”

After chucking his boxers aside, revealing his half-emerged bulges, Sollux slides down into the empty bathtub and lies on his back, propped up by his elbows so he can watch Eridan climb in after him with a timid smile, coming to straddle his chest and lick around the shell of his ear. Sollux’s hand immediately goes to rest on the back of Eridan’s neck, scratching right at his hairline while his other hand falls on the small of his back, sliding up under the white jacket onto the cold skin of Eridan’s back.

“Do you remember,” Eridan breathes in his ear, “when you accidentally told me that you… um… thinkin’ about me?”

Retrospect on his side, Sollux almost bursts out laughing. “Jerk off thinking about you?”

Eridan goes bright in the face and he lets out yet another nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Eridan’s face goes even brighter in colour. “Well since you like watchin’ so much, did you want to maybe…” he gives a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale. “…Show me?”

Show him. Of course, the first thing that Eridan does not realize is that it’s less ‘sensual touching himself’ and much more ‘desperately fumbling at his genitals trying to let the physical pleasure outweigh the burning shame when he gets off to his friend, and the second thing is that it usually takes Sollux about two minutes to start dumping his genetic fluid when a nice picture of Eridan is involved, but with the real deal sitting in front of him in full navy uniform, his fake mind mathematics deduce that it should take all of twenty seconds (for god’s sake, his nook is already making a mess in the bathtub), which should prove to be sufficiently embarrassing.

“Yeah,” he blurts despite himself, and after a slightly awkward pause during which time Eridan shimmied backwards to sit between Sollux’s feet and Sollux hopped up to slouch on the side of the tub, giving Eridan full view of his nook when he opens his legs a bit wider, Sollux slides the heel of his hand down the slit where his bulges are coming out fully, giving the base a squeeze instead of diving right into playing with the hyper-sensitive tips like he usually does. His face grows hot when he sees Eridan just sitting there staring up at him, cross legged with the same timid expression that looks out of place above the fitted and piped collar of his jacket.

Sollux is just not attractive- in any situation, but especially when he’s got his legs spread in the ablution trap with trails of his own fluids dribbling down the sides from his nook. “You’re sure you want to watch this?” he asks, but Eridan nods eagerly, squeezing each one of Sollux’s ankles in a reassuring grip.

“I wanna see how you normally do it’s all.”

Normally… how does he normally do it again? He prefers rubbing his bulges as opposed to fingering himself- he knows that much, since talks with Karkat usually led to at least a few off-handed comments on how they get themselves off, youthful curiosities dressed up as casual insults, of course, wherein he realized that yeah, the outside feels better than the inside. Karkat had flipped his shit about Sollux being ‘wrong’, he remembers that much.

Great. Thinking about dead friends’ masturbatory habits in the middle of a sexual encounter. Good going, Sollux.

“Okay, okay,” Sollux says, mostly to himself. He curls a fist around the bases of both bulges, pressing them together and sliding one finger in between, then running the fist up all the way to the top so tightly that the fluids dripping out of his bulges well up in streams on his hand, running down his wrists and pouring onto the bathtub bottom. His nook twitches as he does so, and on the second stroke, he lets out a shuddering sigh, sensation humming down to his toes; on the fourth, he gives in to the throbbing in his nook and digs two fingers in, letting Eridan’s cool palms coax his legs apart wider, while he twists and scissors his own fingers inside of himself, making ugly squelching sounds in the silence that seem to entice Eridan, if the way he rises and leans forward to brush some hair from Sollux’s forehead is any indication.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, Sol,” he whispers, crawling up to join Sollux on the side of the ablution trap. “Fuckin’ hot as shit.”

Sollux’s bulges strain to unsheathe an extra millimetre at the words, his eyes squeeze shut when his fingers dig deeper, and he starts moaning out loud, unable to contain them any longer when his strokes pick up in speed, making him twist and arch his back, thrusting his hips down to push his fingers in deeper.

“You do this thinkin’ ‘bout me?”

Sollux pants, stretching his thumb down to rub at his seedflap and get the muscles in it to relax. “Y-yes,” he moans, “fuck, I want you so bad.”

Eyes squeezed shut, Sollux only hears the clinking of metal from Eridan taking his rings off, but they fly open when he feels Eridan shimmy behind him so that Sollux is almost in his lap, and feels cool leather wrap around his bulges, stroking him from base to tip and slathering Eridan’s red gloves in his fluids.

“Oh fuck, _Eridan_ ,” he gasps, arching further, grinding his ass deeper into what feels like soft towels instead of the rough twill of Eridan’s uniform, and thrusting into Eridan’s hands, letting each seam between Eridan’s fingers overstimulate each nerve on his sensitive bulges. He pulls both arms back to brace himself on the ledge of the tub when the gloved fingers of Eridan’s other hand start to work themselves into his nook, the dual sensations causing it to spasm and clench around them, and when Eridan finally starts to jerk him off faster, squeezing the tips together almost to the point of pain, just how Sollux likes it, all he can do is give a long warning groan, thrashing and giving off high pitched moans as his genetic material starts to pour out and his hips thrust madly, frustrated when forward brings them deeper into Eridan’s fists but further from his fingers.

“You look so fuckin’ good like this,” Eridan purrs right into Sollux’s ear, voice low and breathy. “Gettin’ all worked up over your prince.”

It’s almost the kind of comment that could nag at Sollux’s mind, but instead of bothering him, it makes the remains of his genetic material squirt instead of stream, and his hands slide back under Eridan’s jacket to rub on his hipbones and touch his skin even a little bit until he slows down and drops them to his side, still panting hard in Eridan’s lap.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” Sollux huffs. “Fuck, I love you.”

Eridan cranes around to give Sollux a sloppy wet kiss. “Mmn, me too.”

“Oh, ha fucking _ha_.”

 “Oh come on, I mean ‘I love you too’, not ‘I love me too’, an’ you know it.”

Sollux sighs, content, through the haze of his afterglow. “Mmhmm.”

“Sol?”

“Mm?”

The next thing Sollux knows, there’s a pair of lips on his own, always cold but still rich with so much life and vitality, sticky with lip balm or lipstick or whatever it is that Eridan uses to make them look so full and dark and tempting.

“Remember this when I die tonight, alright?” Eridan whispers between kisses.

Sollux blocks Eridan’s lips from coming in for another kiss with his tongue. “Er, shut the fuck up; you aren’t going to die; you’re just trying to be drama queen.”

Eridan sighs and rests his chin on Sollux’s shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not.”

 

They spend the next hour cuddling on the sofa, watching recorded HGTV shows to calm Eridan down, upon which time Sollux begins to drift off, awaking to find a swirling mass of voices in his head, some familiar and some stranger, and only one that makes his heart stop and his stomach plunge down to the ground.

\-- _Cod, what did I ever do to get such a fuckin’ cute ass nerd for a matesprit, willin’ to put up with all these episodes a’ Hive Hunters?—_

His mouth goes dry. It feels like the blood has all been wrung from his heart, leaving it dry and cold, and his chest is being pressed beneath a giant slab of concrete, ribs cracking over his lungs.

“W…what?” Sollux says in a shaky breath, hoping with all he has that the minor doze that he was in caused some sort of mistake because this isn’t what’s supposed to happen, this isn’t fair-

“I _said_ , ‘what did I ever do to get a fuckin’ cutie 3.14 nerd as my matesprit who’s willin’ to watch Hive Hunters with me.’”

Hope prevails. Sollux clutches his head, letting the concrete slab be lifted from his chest and his stomach relocate to its usual spot.

“You said it? Like, out loud, right?”

Eridan snorts. “Don’t be such a prick, I’m not one a’ them boyfriends that expects you to read my mind or nothin’.”

“I hope I can’t,” Sollux whispers, tugging Eridan closer in a possessive hug, as if it will keep him safe from death.

Eridan looks quizzical for a moment until his understanding kicks in and he flips around, nuzzling into Sollux’s chest and tangling their limbs together in a tight knot. “You’re scared for me,” he states in a steady breath.

“Of course I am, what sort of an insufferable jerk would I have to be to _not_ care that my boyfriend is going off to fight in a war in a couple hours while I park my fat ass on the couch, completely unable to serve up a double helping of psionic ass-kicking in the case of trouble?”

Eridan sneaks a peck onto Sollux’s lips. “It’s sweet that you’re all concerned, but I swear I’ll be fine.”

“Wow, you sure had a change of heart.”

“So did you.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine.”


	16. The “I Could Cull You’s” and the Mutinies Part 2 [I Could Cull You, But It Would Be The Alien’s Fault]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the bizarre appearance of the planet is very important for this chapter, [here ](http://mishinsilo.deviantart.com/art/Valdis-Story-AC-environment-Concept-273953694)is a really beautiful picture (not by me!) that might help to visualize.

The blast is deafening; the flying debris is blinding. Mountains shatter. The sky falls, huge drops of ocean water shaken loose from the suspended sea above the chalky red ground of the planet, seaweed and fish raining down in baptismal fashion, cutting through the dust and smoke that burns Eridan’s eyes and clogs his open gills, the purple slits that had opened due to the heavy, moist air teasing his body and masquerading as water since touchdown.

He’s trapped in a layer cake of death and despair, between hot red sand charring the thick soles of his boots, swirling debris wrapping around his throat and choking him, blinding him, annexing his bloodstreams with poison, and the plate of clear water above him blotted with silhouettes of monsters swimming through it, casting hazy shadows down with the wavy patterns of light, fragmented by microparticles like he’s lost beneath the surface, unable to find his way out of the deep.

There is liberation in the silence, but there is liberation in madness, and the two meld themselves together and part for the emptiness in Eridan’s skull, the deafness sucking all his thoughts into a black hole and leaving nothing at all, not a thought or an instinct, just silence, stillness, without a loose fear or hope to gnaw his intuition into drive.

He doesn’t think of himself when his eyes go as blank as his mind.

He doesn’t think of Sol or Fef or his dad.

He doesn’t think of much at all.

But he remembers.

 

The first time Feferi had slapped him, it was unquestionably his own fault. Let Gl’bgolyb go a bit hungry, he figured, let her shriek and wail and kill the dirty lowbloods, until her voice is on the cusp of splitting his brain in half, and only then, throw her some food.

And she had tried to reason with him, _what about your friends, Eridan-_ she says friends, not fronds when she’s being dead serious- _what about Karkat and Kanaya, you want them to die? And what about me? You want me to lose everybody?_

 

He almost killed Karkat once. The first time meeting in person, hours from home, their 12-person parties that they looked forward to for perigrees, when Karkat kissed Terezi, only to have her brush it off for the rest of the night, he cried in the bathroom with the lights off until Eridan was the only one willing to barge in and flip the lights on, and Eridan did, and he saw streaky cherry red and things clicked into place and instinct kicked in and the scissors on the counter were in his hands.

 

He came close to feeding his own lusus to Gl’bgolyb.

In a fit of desperation, in a flurry of failures and healing gills, Fef urging him to hurry, she’s hungry, hurry up, hurry up, but he couldn’t do anything with his body bruised and battered, and he doesn’t _want_ to feed her, the sea monster under his bed, the bomb strapped to his chest.

 

He raped his best friend.

It’s not what he wanted to do, but he did, and the cold metal pail that he handed the drone was full of pitch black and his best friend’s back was full of scars and his heart was full of gouges. He never let Sollux kiss him, even when he saw the strain in his eyes, like all he needed for eternal happiness was just one brush of Eridan’s lips to figure out why, but he pushed him away and walked out the door.

It was the only time that Sollux ever made him hard, when he was tied up and gagged on the floor, tears in his eyes and trying to pretend that he didn’t want Eridan inside of him.

 

And when the smoke clears, he’s never hated himself more.

 

 

Taking the planet is just like FLARPing, eerily so, vile and deadly, and Eridan returns to the ship and into Sollux’s warm arms before he blinks back the dirt and disease from the air.

“Hi.” Sollux says flatly, with venom seeping through into his words. Silvery blood splatters liberated from the Niveus trolls with Eridan’s rifle jump from uniform to black shirt, from cold hands to warm, running down Eridan’s cheeks through the pits of his own blood where he was struck with a flaming iron, his only imperfection in battle. The blood is ice and liquid mercury, foreign and wrong all at once, and Eridan wants Sollux to brush the drops from his cheeks like every tear that he’s cried, but the streams of glistening silver trail down until they drop off his chin.

“Hi,” Eridan says back, feeling cold and ashamed. All those things, those terrible, terrible things that he’s done, they’re all he has in his bank of memories, just failures and aggressions to define him. The silver blood is psychic, the aliens can uproot memories and draw them to the highest spires of consciousness, truth more powerful than any illusion, regret more lethal than any fire. The books that he was told to read- the ones that brought him so much stress that he scratched his scabs off- detailed their powers. Not hallucinations, but little reminders, like blows to the head that cause a flood of memories to rush back to amnesiacs in cheap movies.

Sollux gives a tight-lipped kiss to Eridan’s cheek. “I told you you’d be fine.”

His head is exploding and his body is aching, his matesprit is dark-eyed, and they’re docked on the soil of a newly conquered alien planet. “I’m not fine.”

Sollux chews his lip, looking down on Eridan with a look of scorn. “I’m remembering a lot of things.”

“The aliens are makin’ you, Sol, just try an’ ignore it.”

“You used to perch on top of your hive and blast holes in the passers-by that littered.”

 _So I’d like to know why you got so upset about culling your slave, when you used to stomp the blood out of people’s pans every day_ , he wants to ask; Eridan knows just by studying the tightness in his jaw and the contemptuous squint of his eyes.

“I wanted to,” he whispers. “I meant to kill them, they deserved it and Fef told me not to, but I never meant to cull my slave, but it’s okay- it’s okay, I have the right to. Cer said he never knew a glubber that never culled their first slave- can we go lie down?”

Truth is, he never intended to cull his slave at all, but he was shot with an invisible dose of irrepressible rage and forced to get drunk off of a bottle of liquid power and let them both simmer together in his guts to knock his sensibility out, and more than anything, it scares him that he can control everybody except himself.

“And you could cull me.”

He remembered that in the blast, too.

“I would never hurt you, Sollux, I swear to you.” Eridan’s breaths feel heavy as he sucks them in. “My head hurts- can we _please_ go lie down, please?”

Sollux sighs. “There’s something weird about this place, and it’s making me fucking hate your guts.”

“Me too. An’ I mean ‘I hate me too’, not ‘I hate you too.” He tears himself out of Sollux’s arms. “But I love you, you gotta believe me.”

Sollux rubs his feet together. “I’m going back to my bunker. I’ll talk to you when we’re back in space.”

 

* * *

 

The slave bunker is eerily quiet, smelling less of ash and metallic blood than the rest of the ship, but more of sweat and grime. When Sollux climbs into his bunk, he finds a familiar fluffy blanket and Tropicana scented pillow, which no longer makes his head dizzy with want, or even make his chest warm with affection. Instead, he thinks of the flowers and the gifts left to rot on his doorstep, which in turn makes him think of the stains on his carpet, the itching in his wrists and woolly drought in his mouth, how his teeth gnashed onto Eridan’s scarf and how he was made up to feel like dirt under Eridan’s fingernails, how he let himself be reduced to utter nothingness and the hatred and surrender that pulsated through his veins was better than any love he’d ever known.

He remembers the ‘I could cull you’s’ the most, not any more fresh in his memory but so much more potent, coming from his matesprit, his boyfriend, the person that is supposed to love him unconditionally and burst through the gates of hell for him, his best childhood friend turned flushcrush threatening him and intimidating him and then playing it off as amnesia and trying to make it all better with a pair of gloves down Sollux’s pants.

It’s not exactly what he thought at the time- he’s heard of highblood violence amnesia before, mentioned off-hand by Equius, actually, during one of their post-work chats. He forgets things during his Vriska-titled ‘rage aneurisms’ off and on, but they tend to come back to him after spending some time around the pacifying influence of Nepeta.

But with all the memories swirling around the front of his brain, what Sollux finds causes a self-loathing and a rage to course through him- how could he have spent so long in such willful ignorance?

He’s well aware of how Eridan didn’t use his nook or his bulges during pailing season. But, as the memories toss and turn, there’s other things, too- when he was a split second from pushing himself inside of Eridan after the ball, he was asked to stop, and when Eridan jerked him off and fingered him, he was wearing gloves.

Eridan doesn’t want to touch him.

Be it not an odd day, it might make Sollux sigh and, resigned, lie down on the couch with his husktop to vent his frustrations through inexperienced MMORPG players, but it’s sure as hell an odd day, full of confusion and resentment, and it makes Sollux’s fingertips quake with anger; as the ship starts to move, he’s not sure that he can control the urge to storm over to Eridan’s dandy gold quarters, take him by the scruff of the shirt, and slug him in the face.

Better yet, give him a taste of his own medicine and force him onto his knees with his mouth open – _fuck, don’t think like this-_ and teach him that there’s nothing dirty about warm-coloured genetic material, make him taste it and explain to Sollux in depth just how good it is sliding over his tongue, shove his face right down to the base of his bulges – _fucking think-pan, stop it_ \- come in his mouth even, watch him swallow mouthful after mouthful – _fucking **stop**_ \- and squeeze his horns and—

A heavy tremor stops Sollux’s thoughts and sends him hurtling from his bunk onto the ground, fall softened by the blanket that his fists had been balled up in moments prior. A fellow slave falls on top of Sollux instantly after, crushing his legs with a grunt and a confused apology. As they move to get up in a storm of muttered curses, the lights all immediately burn out, leaving them in total darkness with a peculiar chemical smell that starts to bring smoke through Sollux’s nostrils and weave itself through his brain until the back of his throat burns, his fingertips go cold, and everything blurs into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

What could be hours or seconds later, dim, wavy lights begin to creep behind Sollux’s heavy eyelids, sun refracting through water shining in through the giant glass wall of the ship’s ballroom. He squints through the sunlight, every fibre of his body instinctively screaming at him to get away (or is it the voices in his head?), to see rows of chair legs, piles of bodies collapsed on the ground just like him, and little else.

The haze refuses to let go of his pan, confusion overwhelming his senses, but he feels a definite tug at the hem of his shirt.

“Captor?” a gravelly voice asks, though it doesn’t carry the sluggishness that Sollux would expect. “Are you awake?”

“Mm, barely,” he slurs back. “The fuck ‘appened?”

“Lemme see if I can clear your head.”

In his daze, Sollux sends his fingers downward to find the question mark key on the keyboard, until he realizes with a lazy laugh that he’s speaking, speaking to somebody familiar, but not Eridan. “Darzey, ‘v you been awake this whole time?”

Darzey slaps a hand over Sollux’s slurring mouth. “Shh, keep it down! And yeah, you think you’re the only psychic mustardblood on this ship, sparky boy?”

“What, ‘v you got the ability to un-mindfuck people?”

Sollux’s stomach lurches as he feels Darzey’s warm hands grip the sides of his head and give a squeeze, feeling like something is being sucked out of him, and when he opens his eyes again, everything is startlingly sharp; the lethargy is gone.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it is,” he mutters. “Clearer?”

“Crystal,” Sollux breathes, looking around with newfound intuition. They’re lying amongst bodies of trolls- lowbloods almost exclusively, some unconscious, some just gaining consciousness, and others with a limpness that Sollux thinks can only denote death. Facing the wall is a row of chairs with other trolls tied to them, limp with sacks pulled over their heads. Second from the end, closest to the bar, is clearly discernible as Eridan, obvious from both the way the sack drapes over his horns and the bandages on his wrists visible where the rope makes his sleeves ride up.

Far down the line, he can pick out the clothes of both supervisors, and, as his vision creeps ever more westward, his heart skips a beat.

Standing to the side are three people, around five feet tall and hornless, milky white skin gleaming in the dim light in an almost pearlescent way, one with long, white waves and the others with short fluffy hair.

In their hands are long, burning irons; strapped to their sides are weapons taken from the Alternians, one of which is plainly recognizable as Ahab’s Crosshairs. A single molecule of relief cuts through the fear squeezing Sollux’s chest as he remembers the painstaking steps required to fire it- without guidance, an alien has no hope of shooting it properly. A twinge from the scar tissue of Sollux’s thigh reminds him that damage can still be done when it’s shot wrong.

“They dragged us here,” Darzey whispers. “I pretended to be knocked out, but I should’ve just ran…”

 “Why’s the crew tied up?”

“Don’t know.”

A few groans come from the peripheries of the room from other trolls slowly waking up and making lazy once-overs of their surroundings. The bagged heads loll upright, bringing with them panicked gasps and wrists twisting in their restraints.

Footsteps from behind warn Sollux of more aliens, more of the pearly-skinned Niveus trolls, and with the aliens in control of the ship and crawling all over the planet below, he doesn’t bother flirting with ideas of escape.

As the hazy voices increase in volume, the aliens begin to conglomerate near the hostage crew, and one presses a pistol to the fourth hostage from the end, dangerously close to Eridan.

“Under is your pilot,” the long-haired alien says in broken Alternian, heavily accented yet strangely clear. “Disobey and he dies.”

The ropes around the pilot’s wrists groan as he twists his wrists, squirming his body and only managing to get the gun pressed harder against his head.

Sollux can hear heartbeats hammering all around him, accenting the doomed voices- dozens of them- crying for help, for mercy, or hope.

One of the fluffy-haired aliens steps up. “Good Alternians,” they say, turning to the tied up crew, with such an androgynous voice that Sollux hasn’t the faintest clue of its gender, if it has one. “We have no desires to harm you. We only wish to liberate you, and allow you to practice justice.” The alien drags the iron rod across the palm of one of the crew members, spilling out a gush of rich indigo. “Your oppressors believe their blood makes them superior, but take away their fear and status, and what are they? Nothing but their actions, stored in the memories of those they oppress and abuse.”

The other alien picks up. “’Highbloods’, we’d like to show you just what your underlings think of you, how flawed and wrong your system really is. We’ve seen your memories, so-called ‘lowbloods’, we’ve seen the cruelties and injustices.” They point to one of the lowbloods in the pile of bodies on the floor. “You- your owner locks you up for days with no food, correct?” They walk closer and slide a palm over her hair- she shies away at first, but relaxes into the alien’s touch once the threat of harm dissipates and becomes replaced with alliance. “You find the one who does that to you, and you make it right, my dear.”

“And you! You’ve been held captive for pailing since twelve sweeps. You, show her how you feel about that.”

 The aliens go on, pulling out memories and reciting them in front of the crowd, sometimes stooping down to gently place the handle of a hot iron in their hands and guide them nearer to where the crew is tied up.

Not one of the lowbloods attack an alien, caught up in the promise behind their words, and, as they continue to speak, the pailslave walks, cautiously as if she’s treading on dynamite, along the line of crew members until she finds her owner, and when she does, her knuckles whiten around the hot iron, and a feral snarl goes across her face as she winds up and bashes her owner with the iron, tipping the chair over, and brings a silence upon the room. For a moment, the only sound in the room is her ragged breathing, until, tentatively, lowblood after lowblood begins to applaud. She swings the bar again, bruising her owner’s skin so hard that light blue droplets fly out and a muffled scream erupts from underneath the bag.

Temptation begins to overwhelm Sollux as more lowbloods, egged on by the pailslave’s violent revenge, take irons from their alien supporters and begin to take up arms against their superiors and owners, some not bothering with weapons and sending kicks and punches as chair after chair tips over and clatters to the ground.

His stomach twists when the first lowblood bashes Eridan in the head, but it’s instinctual, not with surprise. Eridan is notorious, due to both the stardom that comes with being an aristocrat and the small amount of fame that he and Vriska gained from their infamous FLARPing campaigns, not to mention news of snapping Euyeur’s neck over walking in on him bathing travelling fast. It’s not unexpected that other lowbloods are taking their frustrations out on one of the purest bloods on Alternia, especially not when they know of his genocidal bigotry and superiority complex and oh, how it would be satisfying to kick him down a notch.

“And you,” an alien says, pointing at Sollux, who freezes, in the middle of sitting up to continue looking on in fascinated horror. “you’ve been assaulted and belittled by a boy that claims to care about you.”

Sollux’s heart stops as the alien walks closer, their porcelain features strangely calming, kind, and their touch is gentle and warm on Sollux’s temples, not at all like the cold touch of Eridan; their voice soothes Sollux’s mind and fills him with valour when they whisper, “but you have to show him how little love he’s given you.”

Highbloods are bleeding out all over the floor, still bound and blinded by the sacks over their heads, even those who don’t have slaves. Sollux stands paralyzed as he watches the small crowd of lowbloods pound their irons into Eridan’s ribs, giving that bastard just what he deserves, listening to him scream and sob underneath his bag, and it would feel so, so good to just hit him once, just one strike of a hot iron to get even for being mauled at the diner and called an engine that’s burning out faster than anything, for being tied up and pailed, for watching Eridan spit on lowbloods- his people- and liken them to dirt and cull them, for laughing about culling him and being disgusted by Sollux and every little filthy thing that he’s done because he thinks that he’s better than Sollux, better than anybody, but like the aliens said, he’s tied up with no status, being judged solely by his actions and repenting for all of his sins, and Sollux has the obligation to punish him, just a little bit.

Darzey grabs his wrist as he tries to step forward and starts to speak, but drops him as his moirail gets clubbed in the head and instead makes a break for the lowblood assailant, leaving Sollux to slowly walk forward and watch Eridan’s body writhe and tense with every kick and bludgeon, blood starting to blossom out onto the white fabric of his uniform.

Just one hit, Sollux promises himself, smash the iron right over his blood-pusher, and his anger will be appeased.

He can’t stop a smirk from rising as he raises the iron- finally, finally, he can make things even, set his soul at ease and feel, for one brief clip in time, like he has power, freedom, _justice_ , and he makes to swing the iron down but it connects with the skull of one of the people attacking Eridan, flinging him off of Sollux’s matesprit.

He can’t hurt Eridan.

Not even the aliens can make him.

 

The room is in complete chaos, with aliens standing off to the side still gently reciting pulled memories while vanguarding the staircases, almost all the lowbloods beating some inch of flesh, be it a highblood or a group of lowbloods assaulting their moirail. The scent of blood is thick in the air, screams reverb on Sollux’s eardrum, louder than the sound the iron makes when it connects with the next assailant’s head, throwing her ten feet away from Eridan, louder than the sound of another iron bashing his head in as revenge.

He drops to the ground, seeing quadruple of one troll sprinting towards the stairs, only to be shot down in a green tsunami of blood by an alien, and clarity springs forth and sinks its teeth into Sollux’s shoulder; he realizes that they’re all going to die, one way or another.

Arms slide underneath Sollux’s, hoisting him to his feet and closer to the East side of the room. “Spark the tank,” Darzey yells at him over the uproar of the room, pointing him at the cleverly decorated gas tank far on the other side of the room, labelled with clear warnings against fire.

“Are you crazy?” Sollux screams back, “The ship’s underwater!” _If the explosion doesn’t kill us first_ , he means to add, but it’s unnecessary. Death by bludgeon, death by alien, death by explosion, or death by drowning are their only apparent options. At least this way, they can take some aliens down with them.

Darzey lets Sollux regain his balance, letting him go and starting to wave his arm around wildly, trying to usher as many trolls over as possible while smashing the chair under his moirail to splinters with a few kicks.

With a deep breath and a hasty acceptance of his own death, Sollux beats off the last lowblood, heaves Eridan into his grip, and fires up his psionics- the last thing he sees before red and blue overtakes his vision being a horde of aliens sprinting towards him with guns- and jams the psions straight into the centre, blasting the whole thing apart and feeling the wind get knocked from him as the force of the explosion hurls him out the glass wall, saved from being shredded by the barstools and tables that had hurtled through before him, right out into the ocean in the sky.

The salt stings at his wounds, water squeezing all around him as he looks at the ocean he’s doomed to drown in, sky above and mountains down below, exploded ship behind him and bleeding Eridan in his grip, violet welling out in clouds through the ocean, and the cold overwhelms his nerves and chills him with unarguable despair.

Dead bodies float around him, debris swirling through the crowds, and all at once, Sollux feels himself being pulled by the wrist, and guided towards dark shapes as his lungs begin to burn for air.

Blurry visions of mountains below enter Sollux’s sight as he’s pulled down towards the bottom of the suspended water in a chain of five or six trolls, Sollux holding Eridan and being held by Darzey being held by somebody else. Sollux’s face starts to grow hot with the strain of drowning, accidentally drawing in a lungful of water that begins to suck the life out of him, convulsing and coughing, black spots forming in his eyes as everything slowly fades.

Next he knows it, Sollux is on his knees trembling as he coughs the salt water from his lungs, staring down at hot red mountain dirt. The only thing that he can think of is that he’s alive, and Eridan is still with him, blue-lipped and slack-jawed, bruises and welts over his cold skin, body limp and still.

“Eridan,” he gasps, scrambling on bruised legs to get Eridan lied out on the hot ground, “Eridan, please, _please_ don’t be-!” Blood gushes from Eridan’s leg, a shiny hunk of glass from the window stabbed deep into his flesh, and with every shake that Sollux gives, he only flops like a rag doll, unbreathing as water dribbles from his gills. “Somebody-“ he chokes, screaming back to whoever fell to the mountain with them. “Somebody _help him_ , he’s not- _he’s not_ -“

Sollux’s hands shake too much for them to be of any use; he presses his head against Eridan’s chest for a few seconds, and, without a heartbeat singing in his ears, collapses down and clings to Eridan’s shoulders. Clear drops rain from his soaking wet hair onto Eridan’s face, sticking in his eyelashes before they can enter his eyes- stuck half-open and glazed over.

Watery yellow joins the clear ocean water as Sollux chokes out the last of his thought, nothing more than a wisp of air, a strangled, “ _he’s not okay_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of things said in this chapter contradict canon and aren't what would seem realistic for Eridan or Sollux to feel; just keep in mind that there is a lot of stress going on, added onto the aliens being both manipulative and psychic. Compare Sollux vs Darzey if you want to see how big an influence the aliens have.


	17. Flooded Rooms and Tales from the ER

            He awoke to pungent air blowing into his nostrils and a slow drip of fluid into his veins, that chilled his wrist to ice with each drop, until the hot blood in his veins swept it away, carrying it through his whole system. The scent of astringent and chemical cleansers burned in the back of his throat, mouth sticky with dehydration and gunk clouding his hazy eyes. The foggy haze of anesthesia wrapped his brain up in a muggy veil, numbing his senses; he could only feel a throbbing numbness through his leg and a hard mattress beneath him, see fluorescent lights and white walls, and hear absolutely nothing until a heavily accented voice cut through the ringing silence.

            “Sol? Sol? Sollux?”

            Shadowy hands were clinging to Sollux’s limbs, trying to drag him back into sleep, to a place where he wouldn’t be consumed with freezing cold agony, but the voice in his ears shattered them into phantasms and tugged him deeper into reality.

            “Sol, buddy, doc says you’ve got to get up.”

            He meant to ask, ‘Eridan?’, but his mouth was locked up with lethargy, and what came out (according to later recounts) was something along the lines of “Huriblerg?”

            “What did you just fuckin’ call me?”

            And next, Sollux meant to ask where he was, again mutilating it to a confused, “Mer veb ee?”

            “Why do I even fuckin’ bother with you?”

            “Jib nom greeb.”

            “Hey Sol, remember that movie we watched last night?”

            “Werb a beep wabs?”

            Eridan had pulled down the blanket then, fucking devil that he was, exposing a huge bandaged portion of Sollux’s leg. “If it weren’t for my benign generosity, you’d be one Leg-o-less.”

            “Juck off.”

            “Oh shit, did I get you? I totally got you, caught you off-guard with that outrageously astute Lord a’ the Rings pun, did I?”

            Sollux rolled over, hiking the blankets back over his head and curling up to fetal position as the IV dripped slowly into his wrist, finding himself unable to bring one of his legs up to his chest due to a giant cast plastered onto it. Eridan had put his hand on his friend’s shoulder gently, once he finished his side-splitting laughter, and dropped his voice to one with an almost pale concern.

            “Seriously though, how are you feelin’?”

            “Vired. Cold.”

            “Well that’s good, I guess.”

            “Did voo stay snere the bowl time?”

            A smile crept across Eridan’s face, a friendly little quirk of the lips, and he snatched the remote off of the hospital’s nightstand, flipping a TV show on and weaseling his way into the hospital bed with Sollux.

            “Shove over,” he said, “Fef’s bringing us coffee and doughnuts. Doc says you’ve gotta sleep here today.”

            Sollux’s leg began to throb soon after, reacting to the reconstructed bone, grafted skin, concise stitches and tightly wrapped, yellow-stained bandages around it. The hospital was cold and dingy, with a dank feeling and the gut-churning smell of antiseptic, fluorescent lights that hummed in the silence, and though the sky was still dark outside the window, he could feel it reverberating in even his numb leg that the day was going to be long and lonely.

            Eridan was brighter than ever, however, handing Sollux his cup of water, adjusting the bed into sitting position and cranking up the heat on the electric blanket. “A’ course, we’re gonna sleep here with you.”

            Sollux’s eyelids fluttered, fighting to stay open for at least a few hours until the sun rose and the clock chimed on an acceptable hour for trolls to sleep. “You’re bonna be here when I flake up?”

            Eridan shimmied deeper under the covers. “Yeah, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

* * *

 

            Eridan’s blood is warmer than his skin is, shimmering in the light from the ocean above as it pours out into a puddle that covers Sollux’s paralyzed hands. For a long while, all he does is stare pensively at the blankness on his matesprit’s face, the glazed eyes and stillness in his chest that used to rise and fall like a slow tide, how his lungs would draw in a breath so slowly, filling his chest entirely, and then let it out in the same way, as if weaving every bit of air through his body before tentatively letting it go. His half lidded eyes are suffused with rich tendrils of blazing violet, the colour brought out so strikingly by the blood and bruises flowering over his cool and clammy skin like thin beams of lightning firing from his pupils and flooding his irises with his rare colour- of course, to Sollux, it appears as just another shade of red. He’s enamoured by Eridan’s irises, possibly out of envy- he hates the eery blankness to his own eyes, as do most trolls, hence why magazines and specialty stores advertise contacts for faking an iris, though they’re all too expensive for most psychics, the main group that would need them, to afford. 

            Though he doesn’t enjoy the monotony of his eyes, Sollux isn’t one to stress over beauty, but there’s a bit of him that wishes he could watch the yellow seep into his eyes and welcome him to adulthood, while the other half is thankful for the slight anonymity- red and blue was an identity that he was born with, it’s what his stars inducted him with, cold and warm, two polar opposites that he’s forced to reconcile with every blink.

            The thought that the glazed eyes and lolled back head may indicate something other than injury- as in, _Eridan is fucking dead; Sollux, just give up-_ doesn’t really cross Sollux’s mind as he shakes his head empty of static and pulls his own shirt off to dig his teeth into the hem and being to tear the soft fabric into strips that he starts winding around Eridan’s bleeding leg wound, pulling the strips tight around the hunk of glass as best he can to bandage him up. Though he’d always claim to be a realist, one who would assess the bleeding, unbreathing troll in a less optimistic light, Sollux’s heart and mind are being held together by fraying threads made entirely of a hope and a prayer that disillusion could easily slice through and cast him deep into a pit of catatonic darkness, and he’s sure that he’d die here, on the wet mucky cliff on an alien planet, clutching onto Eridan’s body and unravelling completely if he were to entertain such thoughts.

            Once Sollux ties the strips tightly around his leg, he strips off Eridan’s jacket and boots, leaving him in his button-up and pants, and, as he moves to take Eridan’s shirt off to check for wounds, he feels Eridan’s whole body twitch under his palms, his earfin spasming and his gills wildly convulsing as they try to suck in something to keep him going, and the strings holding Sollux together tug and tighten and his heart almost explodes- oh, thank every fucking star in the universe, thank every dead troll compiling the book of fate; _he’s breathing_.

            “Eridan,” he gasps, lips quivering through his teary-eyed smile, cradling his matesprit’s head in his palm a bit too tightly- he can’t help himself, Eridan’s alive, whispering, “Eridan, Eridan, Eridan, Eridan, I’ve got you, I’ve got you-“

            He’s cut off by a hellish force ripping him off of his best friend. “Vamoose,” she snaps, resting her three-horned head on Eridan’s chest with such a practiced grace that Sollux realizes that she’s help- she’s what he’s been begging for. A wave of relief washes over Sollux- she knows how to do this shit far better than him, and she’s going to help.

            “Are you a nurse?” he blurts through his tears and fast beating heart.

            “Casice,” she says, spitting the syllables out so quickly that her tongue almost twists. Her fingers move, already bloodied with shades of indigo and violet, to Eridan’s throat, to his lips and mouth, eyes and fins, and she’s doing whatever the fuck nurses do while Sollux stares dumbly through a glaze of yellow tears, reaching out to hold Eridan’s hand in case he wakes up, so he won’t feel scared and alone, but Casice slaps his wrist away and snaps some eloquent profanity at him, telling him to get out of the way. When he doesn’t budge, she snaps at the rest of the world, asking for somebody to take him elsewhere.

            “Don’t make me,” Sollux gasps at whoever starts to drag him away, clawing at the wrists wrapped around his waist. “Don’t make me leave him, fuck off, don’t make me leave him,” he sobs, because he just wants to hold Eridan’s hand; he just wants to be there for him, next to him, because every shaky breath from Eridan could be his last, because, Sollux realizes as he looks around the mountaintop to find nothing but three other trolls in various states of injury, they’ve got nothing, no rubbing alcohol or bandages, and certainly no IV drips or medicine or whatever the fuck it is that nurses use to keep stubbornly romantic sea princes who like HGTV and military history and snuggling and blasting through video games alive.

            A hand clamps over his mouth, while another rubs at his shoulder, making futile attempts to try to calm him down. “Hush, skinny boy, she’s only trying to help,” Darzey whispers to him, and hauls him, kicking and screaming like a wiggler over wanting to hold a boy’s hand, a few feet away to where the three other trolls are laying, the captain upright and not entirely looking like he’s been making out with death itself, the pilot half-awake laying in his lap, and a troll that Sollux doesn’t recognize laying against a rock with fluttering eyelashes as she struggles to stay awake.

            “Hey, hey,” the captain says gently, reaching to grab Sollux’s shoulder. “He’ll be alright, just sit tight, kay?”

            But for some reason, Sollux can’t shake the image of a wounded and crying Eridan waking up, bleeding and bruised to a stranger bent over him on a mountaintop with an ocean above him and being crushed with feelings of fear and loneliness, hands empty and cold.

            “I just want to hold his hand,” Sollux says, biting his lip as his mind begins to simmer down just a bit. “Just let me go hold his hand; he shouldn’t be alone right now.”

            “He’s unconscious,” Darzey says from behind Sollux (or, more appropriately, underneath him, as he’s dragged Sollux back and left him sort of half on his lap), “he needs medical help more than he needs y-”

            Sollux opens his mouth to protest, but all at once, a dark shadow floods the whole area, and a wave of water rains over them, deafening crashes sounding out as the half-exploded ship falls out of the ocean sky, missing their spot on the mountain by only a few metres, and proceeds to skid its way down the mountain onto the ground far below.

            The sound of rocks and pebbles avalanching down the cliff and splashing into what could be a lake or a marsh goes on for long after, covering up the strangled wheezes being pushed from Eridan’s chest that make Sollux’s heart hammer and break against the inside of his ribs.

            He knows what he has to do.

Sollux fumbles to his feet, not wasting a second to indulge in flashbacks of first-aid kits taunting his vision, and tears off down the cliff, with tunnel vision on the waterlogged husk of a ship, the ship that carries everything that can keep his matesprit alive.

 

            He hears voices scream after him, but he’s used to voices screaming, he’s used to ignoring them, and he throws himself off the cliff edge, hurling himself down to the ground and catching himself from instant death with clumsy psionics that aren’t trained well enough to let him fly with any grace, not when his brain is a jumble and his body is bruised, and he bounces himself up in the air, fails to catch himself again, and slides into the muddy swamp, just barely avoiding skidding into the deep.

            What he never noticed, while going from room to room, is that the ship is of utterly behemoth size- it had gone over his head previously, given the context of it being a spaceship, but here, half sunken into mud and dirty water, it becomes clear to Sollux just how difficult it is going to be to salvage any medical equipment at all, but he has to do it. Somehow, he’s going to do it- there’s no choice- it’s get the stuff, or watch Eridan die of infection or air in his veins or his brain bleeding or whatever it is that kills trolls, and it won’t happen. It can’t happen

            Heart hammering, Sollux wades into the marsh, eyes fixed on the blown out glass wall. The ship is roughly half underwater, with corpses and shrapnel bobbing around in the still water.

            There’s the deepest silence permeating the air that takes over as soon as he gets waist-deep in the marsh, like the dozens of bodies are flipping their death inside out and filling up the world with it, sucking in all sound and motion, leaving nothing but a hollow feeling where the real world should be. The only sound is the water ebbing around Sollux’s body as he weaves through the bodies, trying not to look- he’s not good with death; he’s not used to it or entranced by it like Aradia encourages him to be.

            And as each corpse floats by him, blank faces and blank eyes with bugs using them as landing pads and no hands coming up to swat them away- because they’re dead, they’re gone, dead and gone- they bring with them the same thought over and over- that the death surrounding each of them could have grabbed Sollux, and it’s brushing those same bloody fingers over Eridan’s throat every moment that Sollux spends frozen with water eddying from the force of his heartbeat.

            One of the corpses in front of his is a familiar face, that of one of the more talkative slaves who probably had a matesprit and maybe a moirail that wanted him to come home, that wanted him to live as much as Sollux needs Eridan to live; it chills Sollux to the bone to see all the faces that were once filled with laughter and anger and happiness turn to a blank expanse of nothing, their bodies limp and empty, just bags of meat leftover from the lives they lived, where the only thing left to give a glimpse to their memories and stories are scars and wounds.

            But he can deal with the chills; he can’t deal with the feeling of coarse flesh on his arm when they bump against him, wilted skin over droopy bones, birthmarks and freckles, scars and painted nails- they’re people, _they’re people_ , they were alive.

            Sollux doesn’t cry often- he cries when Eridan is near dead on the cliff, and he cries when his childhood friends die, but most other times, he blinks as fast as he can to get rid of the extra tears, thankful for his glasses, but no amount of blinking can hold the quiet rolling streams of tears that start to pour down his face.

           He swims with his eyes squinted, forced to keep them slightly open to avoid running straight into a floating corpse, and makes it all the way through the ballroom to the middle of the staircase, where water meets thick, wet air, dragging himself up to the top of the stairs where he stays for a minute, trying to take in deep breaths until he thinks of Eridan’s blood trickling down the mountain and forces himself to stand.

            Eridan’s room is right across the hallway, waterlogged and devastated, door giving way with a hard shove from Sollux’s trembling and still sobbing body. Clothing and papers are strewn out all across the floor, soaking wet with salt water. The papers are bled out blue ink- Eridan always uses pen for the same reason that Sollux does, that is, he assumes he’ll never make a mistake- useless soggy things that inspire Sollux with their lost value to start grabbing whatever he can and shove them into one of the more empty suitcases laying against the dresser, tossing in capes and socks, piles of jewelry, hairspray, scotch tape, scarves, baby powder, lotions, half-drunk bottles of soda, toothpaste- everything he touches, no matter how useless it is, Sollux throws in, unable to make any rational decisions.

            Once he enters the en suite, however, Sollux makes a beeline for the medi-kit, which is thrown against the load gaper with the contents all spilled out nearby. The bandages are almost all used up, the rubbing alcohol is half-empty, and everything else is useless considering Eridan is almost dead (band-aids, thanks a fucking ton).

            He hurls it into the suitcase anyhow, carrying the bag with him out into the hallway before entering the captain’s quarters in search of a fresher medi-kit.

            The captain’s room is in even more disarray, if only because of the huge bulletin board sporting hundreds of tacked on newspaper clippings and photographs, documents and receipts, which Sollux ignores in pursuit of the medi-kit.

            He goes through both the captain’s quarters and the pilot’s quarters in this way, stuffing the stocked medi-kits in the suitcase before starting his descent to the slave bunker and the kitchens.

            Two stairs down to the hallway, it becomes evident that they’re flooded entirely with silt and marsh water, which can only mean that the opposite side of the ship, the side with the honest to god medical room, is flooded beyond repair as well.

            Three medi-kits will have to do, at least until Sollux has the bearings to hold his rapid breaths for long enough to submerge himself, and so he makes his way, with closed eyes, back through the corpse maze out of the ship, wherein he feels a sharp nudge against his side that makes him stifle a scream at first, until the blue diamond pressed against him starts to click as something familiar.

            “Like a fucking lost puppy,” Sollux whispers to the heavy air. “Fucking rifle belongs with him.”

            He believes in fate just like the other trolls do- maybe because there’s always such irrefutable evidence towards it, but the stars and the trolls that are made for each other and the ancestral relations are a praxis for trolls, something that they’re raised on and sold on from the youngest age- because it’s true- there’s fate on Alternia- Sollux can’t fucking argue that, so he slings the rifle around his shoulder and keeps floating the suitcase behind him, clenching his fists and swearing that he’s going to get through the death marsh and do what he needs to do.

            He can’t fly worth shit.

            His lusus told him, through grumbles that he barely understood, that he would teach Sollux how to use psionics to fly at age 10, which, of course, was the age that Sollux was forced to release the two-headed monster from his care due to other responsibilities, and thus, though he flings the suitcase all the way up the mountain, he can hardly even keep his feet lifted off the ground in a simple hover.

            So he climbs, skinny arms trembling above his quaking legs as he claws into the rocks, dragging himself up. He isn’t afraid of heights, he affirms to himself by gazing down at the muddy clay below- he strifed on the top of a hundred story tall building every night for ten sweeps; he can handle a mountain. Halfway up, the pads of his fingers start to bleed, but he manages to get his psionics crackling enough to throw himself a few metres up, coughing the dust from his lungs as his back grows cold with sweat and clammy with the thick air. A shiver rolls through his frame, causing him to lose his grip and slip down, but he catches himself and bounces up high enough to where he can catch the edge of the cliff and use the last scraps of his strength to hoist himself up, sweaty and dizzy, still with tears drying on his cheeks and his clothes- that is, pants, underwear, shoes and socks- soaked through.

 

 

* * *

 

            By the time night falls, the seven trolls, who consist of Sollux, an unconscious Eridan, Casice the nurse, the captain and his moirail (who insisted they be called Cerati and Cloies, but Darzey is forever Darzey in Sollux’s mind), the pilot whose name Sollux never found out, and the ship’s engineer, Laferi- are exhausted, though more or less stable thanks to Casice.

            The night brings an impossible coldness over the once hot planet, but they don’t make a fire, lest the aliens down the other side of the mountain find them. Instead, they sit in a tight circle, hushed but murmuring amongst themselves, which is largely Casice telling them how to sit properly to speed up the healing process.

            For all their murmuring, Sollux doesn’t speak, even when they pick up and start making forced jokes to lighten the mood, cradling Eridan in his lap and rubbing along the sides of his neck to try and put a bit of warmth into his shivering body.

            “Are the clothes dry yet?” Darzey asks, prodding the suitcases that Sollux brought up with his finger and answering his own question. “Fuck, it’s so cold.”

            “Great observation,” Laferi mutters, lolling her head onto Casice’s shoulder. She’s bandaged over both ears and given an impromptu arm sling with a button up shirt, leaving her in a tanktop and pants, still damp like all the other clothes from their fall through the ocean.

            Sollux pulls Eridan tighter, feeling his body vibrate from Eridan’s trembles. He knows that Eridan is permanently cold, but here, in a bloodied button up and miles of gauze, it isn’t just that he looks cold, but he looks vulnerably cold, like a wounded animal trying desperately to curl up and save some scraps of heat. It makes his heart wither and his eyes wet; all he wants is for Eridan to wake up, for Eridan to be warm and not in pain, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire life.

            “His oscillations are a hopeful sign,” Casice says, motioning to the way Eridan is quivering and curling tighter into Sollux’s lap. “He’s responding to external stimuli.”

            “Is he going to wake up?” Sollux whispers flatly, and adds, “wake up okay?”

             Casice sighs and rubs the back of her neck. Her hair is frizzed, though long and still shiny. “I can’t say. He might be brain damaged, or he might never wake up, but regardless, there’s a possibility that he could awaken fully functioning, and as such, it’s what we have to hope for.”

            Laferi sighs and rubs her stomach. “If we don’t die of starvation first.”

            Cerati lets go of the pilot’s hand, which he was thumbing circles over a moment prior, and flits his eyes around their makeshift campsite, that is, a shelter that they’ve taken under a jutting rock, with clothes- mostly Eridan’s- spread out to dry. Medical supplies are dumped unceremoniously around, and the fading light from the sky shrouds them in shadow. “I’ll go back down to the ship,” he says, stumbling over his broken leg to stand. “There should be some food we can salvage, and I’ve gotta send a distress signal, or else we’ve got no hope.”

            Darzey hurries to his feet to help his moirail stay upright, taking most of his weight on his own petite frame. “Don’t,” he breathes, “me and Casice’ll go.” He looks over at Sollux. “Or me and Captor.”

            “I’m not that bad off,” Cerati mutters, giving Darzey a peck on the cheek. “Thanks to you.”

            Under normal circumstances, Sollux might gag at their egregious pale displays of affection, but instead, it makes him slightly envious of how trusting they seem to be in each other, how they seem to protect each other like it’s their natural instinct. It’s the first time that Sollux notices how much violet Darzey wears- his glasses, the collar of his shirt, his stupid knee-socks- it’s as much as Nepeta wears of her fucking wonderail’s colour, showing a deep bond as well as a warning to other trolls of what they’ll be dealing with if they try anything.

            Perigrees ago, when Sollux had gone home from Eridan’s hive, high off of their first shaky kiss, he had worn Eridan’s cape (or, more accurately, draped it around himself like a blanket while he dozed in the back seat of the bus) to stop anybody from fucking with him, and, coincidence or not, he arrived home with not so much as a sneer.

            Casice gets to her feet. She’d chucked off her shoes ages ago, going barefoot instead of wearing her kitten heels, and pads over to stand by Darzey’s side. She’s the only one who is remotely close to matching his height, short and carrying a bit more extra weight than is acceptable for trolls, but she’s a medicull troll, kept around for her knowledge rather than strifing ability.

            Before the two head off, Casice bends down to whisper in Sollux’s ear a simple, “Hold his hand as much as you like, but don’t put pressure on his ribs,” and they’re gone, hiking down the mountain as the sun retreats almost entirely, leaving them to lie under the wobbling lights of luminescent fish above.

            Sollux shuts his eyes, thoughts of death haunting his mind and making his skin burn with a desire to melt itself into Eridan’s. Holding him isn’t making him feel comforted; he needs to be closer, he needs to hold Eridan tighter, he needs to somehow let all of his love out instead of choking him like it does when he almost imagines the word ‘dead’ describing Eridan.

            Sollux starts to doze off sometime soon, pulling on a damp shirt and wrapping Eridan’s cape around them both, cocooning them together so that Sollux can at least warm them up with his body heat, even if their clothing is crusty and cold.

            He doesn’t fade into sleep, but he enters some sort of sluggish, half-delirious state, and awakens on his own much later, when Casice and Darzey are back and snoozing amidst piles of salvaged food and goods, barely visible through the darkness engulfing them. He’s not sure why he woke up, until he feels it- a barely there, weak tugging at the hem of his shirt.

            Eridan croaks out a sound, which Sollux can only assume is the first bits of his name, just a vauge, “S…?” before his lungs peter out and he jerks in pain at the stress a slight inhale puts on his ribs.

            “Eridan, hush; it’s okay,” Sollux whispers, placing a hand as gently as he can over Eridan’s chest.

            “S-s-,” Eridan sputters, trying once more through chattering teeth and bruised ribs. He gnashes his teeth in pain, letting tears start to fill his eyes.

            “Whatever you’re trying to say, it can wait,” Sollux says back, bending over his swollen heart to leave a long, lingering kiss on Eridan’s lips. He twines his fingers with Eridan’s, leaning back to allow Eridan to tuck his head back into his chest, using his other arm to keep him pressed snug there, rolling his head to the side to press his nose into Eridan’s floppy hair, soft with the absence of gel but still smelling of shampoo and salt water. Before he resigns to sleeping, Sollux presses a few more kisses over Eridan’s face: his nose, his forehead, his fin, and smiles as he whispers, “Because I’ll be right here when you wake up.”


	18. Garbled Speech and Baked Alaska

 

            They spend the entire morning digging into a box of soda crackers, saved by the plastic sleeve yet growing more and more soggy with the moist air. Sollux attempts to feed Eridan, cramming a cracker in his mouth and getting it spat back out in his face when Eridan starts coughing violently, chest heaving, whimpering in pain, spitting out wads of blood as his body convulses. He attempts to pour some water down Eridan’s throat to try and wash away the dust and blood, but one trickle is all it takes for Eridan to be choking and crying, until, both guilty and frustrated, Sollux puts everything down and massages his scalp until he hums in pleasure instead, admiring how his hair flops in his eyes and curls around his cheeks in soft waves when it’s left to dry naturally.

            “S-s… nm….ww,” he croaks, still unable to form any coherent word.

            “No water?” Sollux tries, and gets a nod in response. “You aren’t thirsty?”

            Eridan nods again. “B… ca… dnt.”

            “But you can’t do it?”

            “Y- g.”

            “I know I’m good. This is your worst nightmare, right? Not being able to talk.”

            “F-ck… y.”

            He’s about to kiss the blood off of Eridan’s lips in an attempt to let the taste fill his senses with nothing but violet and heat, so the ache in his chest might be remedied, but Casice and Darzey come plop down beside them, and compel him to abstain.

            “So why did you not tell me that it was a goldmine of corpses down there?” Casice says brightly, crossing her legs over one another in a flaunting of flexibility that Aradia had once attempted to stick Sollux in, and only managed to pull every muscle in his legs. “If I would have known, I would have waited until it was light out.”

            A chill rolls through Sollux just thinking about the bodies floating about. There’s still more stuff from the ship that they can salvage aside from the bags of crackers and cereal that the two brought up that they’ll need if they have any hope of lasting longer than a day. It’s thanks to them that Eridan’s internal bleeding is stemmed, his deeper lacerations are stitched, and he’s breathing at all, but there’s no way in hell that Sollux is going to show his gratitude by wading through an ocean of decayed bodies again. He swears he can smell them from all the way up the mountain.

            She continues, starry-eyed. “It’s an absolute dream come true! All those gory wounds-“ she shivers and grins. “They’re all so… so-“

            “Don’t finish that thought,” Darzey says, putting a hand over her mouth and causing her to pout and slump.

            “I was going to say ‘enthralling’.”

            “Still creepy.”

            His words linger in the air as Casice sighs, turning back to Eridan and staring at him for a long while before slowly raising her hand to brush against his cheek, running it down over his cuts tenderly and gently thumbing over his split lip, where it lingers for a bit too long and Sollux can’t control himself anymore. He slaps her hand away.

            “What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, putting a possessive hold on Eridan, who makes a pained sound as his bruised bones get squeezed.

            “S… f-ck…lm…guh!”

            Sollux eases up his hold instantly, muttering an apology at a hacking Eridan, but not casting his piercing stare from Casice, who is unperturbed.

            “He’s coughing blood. How’s his breathing?”

            Sollux runs his fingers through Eridan’s hair, taking the briefest of moments to bask in how soft it is without gel. “Uh, I think it’s fine. Eridan, how’s your breathing?”

            Eridan wheezes and grabs at his chest. Sollux starts rubbing small circles on his back, trying to soothe him and coax the pain to fuck the hell off. “Hrt… b… fil…k…tr…st.”

            Sollux starts running his fingers through Eridan’s hair again, putting on his most doting voice to show Casice what a beautiful bond he has with Eridan. Him. Not her. “It hurts, but it feels like it’s through a straw?”

            Eridan nods once and gives a weak smile. “Lv-y,” he says, and Sollux’s chest warms.

            “Well, makes sense, though there isn’t a lot else I can do here,” she gives her best sympathetic shrug. “And you? I never bothered to ask how you were doing, sorry about that.”

            Sollux shrugs. “I feel like my head was used as a baseball in an intense championship game, but other than that, fine.”

            “Alright then, just checking up on you two,” she says with a smile, turning to leave and find Laferi, who Sollux discovered is her best friend or moirail.

            Darzey remains cross-legged in front of him, shirtless because of how hot it gets during the day, biting his lip nervously before lunging forward to topple Sollux over in a hug.

            “I never thanked you, Captor, so thanks.”

            Sollux squirms an arm out to awkwardly pat his back. As he touches skin, he feels a strangled line, a massive scar, he figures, starting at the top of his shoulder and running down as far, and probably father, than where Sollux’s fingertips end contact.

            “You’re alright, skinny boy,” Darzey says as he pulls back, and as he turns around, Sollux sees the scar going right from his shoulder all the way to where his shorts start- but it’s covered up by a huge tattoo of a terrifying angler fish with a gaping maw and two antennae that crook backwards to both incorporate the scar and resemble the way that Cerati’s horns angle.

            “Nice ink,” Sollux says as Darzey is leaving, and he turns back around and reseats himself. Eridan’s head lolls over to face him with lazy eyes.

            “It’s for my moirail,” he says quietly. “I used to be his personal slave, you know? And he was… well, he was a sea dweller and his moirail had just croaked. So he was hard on me.”

            “N…y-dn…h…m-ft?”

            Darzey raises his brows at Sollux who shrugs, unable to decipher any of Eridan’s garbled speech this time around. “Give him some water, yeah? Casice wants us to all stay hydrated.”

            Eridan starts violently shaking his head, parting his sticky lips to say, “A… td…y…hrs.”

            Sollux sighs and grabs Eridan’s face, squeezing his cheeks so his lips part automatically, and starts trickling a small stream of water down his throat as he squirms and makes strangled sounds of protest.

            “Come on sweetheart,” Sollux whispers, massaging Eridan’s throat to try and coax him to swallow. Eridan spits in Sollux’s face, who looks up at Darzey, face dripping. “This is what I have to deal with.”

            “Yk…dl…pt…m….td…f-k…bl...tn…bst.”

            After three full minutes of Eridan more or less gargling four drops of water, he finally swallows, immediately whimpering in pain, grabbing his chest and beginning to cough up more bloody spit.

            Darzey pats Eridan’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Good job, buddy.”

            “Nt- y-r…f-ck…bd.”

            Sollux kisses Eridan’s cheek. “He says ‘I’m glad I have a friend like you.’”

            Eridan shakes his head sluggishly and yanks Sollux’s hair. “Nt- f-ck…bd!”

            “…and he’s grateful for your charity.”

            Darzey smiles and tugs his socks up before hauling himself upright. “You’re very welcome, dandy fish boy,” he says, and squats back down. “You know, Captor, if there’s anything I can do for you in the future, lemme know, yeah?”

            Sollux nods once, glancing down at Eridan, who is fuming with blood trickling down his chin. “Thanks, DZ,” he says, slapping a hand over Eridan’s mouth. “And Eridan, don’t be such a prick.”

           

* * *

 

            By the end of the day, Eridan is able to swallow a mouthful of water without crying, which seems to marginally improve his speech. Cerati disappears for some length of time, much to the anguish of his matesprit, his moirail and the overbearing Casice, and returns soaking wet, carrying a few scattered belongings and bringing news that the distress call was sent off successfully.

            An hour later, it grows dark, and they sleep again, cold and hungry, this time in warm, dry clothes. Sollux zips Eridan up in his own hoodie, knowing it to be far warmer than any of his own overly stylish clothing, cradles his head in his lap, and combs his hair with his fingers, not out of any sort of care- Eridan has hardly been able to move, leaving his hair soft and tangle-free, but Sollux can feel Eridan’s chest still clenching in pain and has a hunch that it relaxes him. It isn’t until they’ve spent almost a half hour wrapped up in Eridan’s cape that Eridan tries again to speak.

            “…S-lux?”

            Sollux bends down to kiss his temples, tipping his head back to view the warped lights of fish above, casting blobs of light down to cover patches of red mountain in yellow and blue. “What is it, sweetheart?”

            “’M sorry… f- all the thns I’ve done t’ you. Hurtn you,” he pauses to cough, deep and ragged, like he’s ripping the insides of his lungs out. “An’ I kn… I know I can say it, but I rl mean it. I wn… I wn to mk t’ btter. Wn you t’ love me.”

            Sollux slides so he’s lying down, pulling Eridan to his chest. The cool of his breath is lost in the thick fabric he’s wearing- which is Laferi’s leather jacket, cut to accommodate for more womanly curves and lined with a thin fleece. It’s not as warm as the heavy sweater that he had donated to Eridan, nor is it as good as what Laferi put on- an even heavier leather trench- but it’s enough to stop his teeth from chattering. He unzips the front to allow Eridan to cuddle closer to his body and hopefully warm up a bit, and, judging by the way Eridan immediately nestles his face into Sollux’s chest, he’s craving the warmth radiating from the psionic’s chest. “I forgive you, I know you mean it, you _have_ made it better, and I _do_ love you.”

            When Eridan speaks again, his voice is muffled, vibrating through Sollux’s shirt right over his heart. “Wn- t… gve you… reas-n t’ love me. M-ke you happy, cause you m-ke me so f-ckn happy.”

            “Eridan, I wouldn’t be with you if you didn’t make me happy. I’m not a masochist.” Sollux stops and laughs, thinking of piles of expectations balanced on his head by himself, responsibilities and duties that he gives to himself, only to berate himself when he inevitably fucks up. If he let his mind run a bit dirtier, he’d reflect on all the unspeakable things that he wants Eridan to do to him. “Fuck, forget I said that. I’m not a love masochist, alright? I do this-” He slowly lines his lips up with Eridan’s, giving a gentle suck when they press against his. “-because it makes my blood-pusher turn to fucking applesauce. Seriously, they’ve managed to feed entire planets with the pudding that my body spontaneously becomes when I do that.”

            Eridan sighs and nuzzles his matesprit’s chest, wiggling his arms out to wrap around his neck and tug him closer. “S-l?”

            “Mhmm?”

            Eridan closes his eyes and relaxes, letting Sollux’s hands cradle his head. “-f we ‘ver get h-me… gonna take you on a date. Take you f-r d-nr. Fanc- d-nr, f-ckn cand-lights ‘n wearn suits.”

            “Take me for a fancy dinner? That depends, will there be ice cream after?”

            “S- much f-ckn ice crm. R-cky rd.”

            “Wriggling-day cake ice cream?”

            Eridan smiles, almost shrinking down into Sollux’s sweater. “Mmm. What ‘f we don’t go h-me?”

            “If the rescue ship doesn’t come? Then I’ll build us a little hut, and you can go catch fish in the sky, and we’ll live like little fucking  savages for the rest of our lives, like the fucking troll Flintstones. Yabadaba-domestic living.”

            Eridan’s chest starts twitching as he attempts to smother laughs for the pressure they put on his injured body. He starts to cough again.

            “Sorry, sorry, is my pun… _choking_ you up?”

            Eridan interrupts his coughing to smack Sollux hard in the skull, crawling to his hands and knees to hack up more sticky strands of blood. Sollux gets up almost immediately, draping the cape back over him and patting his back. Eridan finishes up with a wheeze, face streaked with tears, and smooshes his face back against Sollux’s chest.

            “I c-t… cn’t f-ckin’ do it. G-nna die. Hrt so f-ckin’ much. Evr-thn hrts. An ‘s my own f-ckn fault for bn such an’ asshl who evr-one ‘ates.”

            Sollux just strokes his hair more, using his thumb to wipe the drool and blood from his chin. “They beat up everybody. It’s just because you’re a sea dweller that you got it so bad.”

            Eridan looks up with wide, teary eyes. “Not you,” he breathes. “You n-ver ‘it me. Not once, ‘ven though you could’ve.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “Yes I do.”

            “You were blindfolded, weren’t you?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Then how can you know for s-“

            Eridan gives the faintest smile before slipping away, reflected more in his twinkling eyes than in his easy and relaxed lips. “-b’cause I trust you, S-lux. I r-ly…r-ly… _do_.”

* * *

 

            He wakes to the roar of a landing ship blasting through the ocean, dumping wave upon wave on them, all painted in red and yellow stripes and coming to a land uncomfortably close to their mountain campsite.

            “Shit, that was fast,” Laferi says, scrambling to her feet. “Is that the rescue ship already?”

            Sollux tries to shake Eridan awake, who had, apparently slept through both the rumble of the engine and the dousing of water, but he remains unconscious.

            “Eridan?” he says, quietly at first, giving him a prod. Eridan’s remains limp. “Eridan, come on, rescue ship’s here!”

            Sollux’s heart drops when Eridan’s eyes stay closed, mouth hanging half-open, and, with a sudden flare of anger racking him to his core, Sollux shakes Eridan using the full momentum of his arms for a moment, and then gives him a hard slap across the face.

            “Eridan, _wake the fuck up_!”

            A strangled sob comes from Eridan’s throat, causing guilt to reach up and punch Sollux in the face, but the only thing that crosses his mind is relief, and he scoops Eridan up in his arms to pull him in a tight hug.

            “I thought you were dead,” Sollux pants, and, after a moment’s consideration and adjustment to reality, adds, “asshole.”

            “Come on guys!” Darzey calls, running over to grab Sollux’s backpack for him. A grin is plastered across his face, as well as fatigue from trying to lift two suitcases plus a backpack. “We made it, fuck, isn’t that great! We’re going home!”

            Sollux snatches up the suitcases with his psionics. “I can get these.”

            Eridan nuzzles Sollux’s neck, making him almost giggle with how ticklish his bangs are. “Aren’t you sweet,” he murmers, voice scratchy and strained but otherwise back to normal.

            His body, however, is in awful condition, of course still battered and broken and incapable to walking, but Sollux manages to carry him all the way over to where the ship’s hatch is slowly opening, reducing his arms to wet noodles. He sets the sea dweller down as soon as they join up with the rest of them, gripping his waist tightly and letting Eridan put almost all of his weight on Sollux.

            “Oh no,” he hears Cerati say as the captain of the rescue ship comes out. “Fuck, no, no, why him?”

            Darzey joins him in his grief a second later, groaning, “Of all people-“

            The rescue captain is some sort of clown, wearing black face paint done up to look like a skeleton, but his hair looks like Gamzee and Tavros’ lovechild- half shaved and a knotted mass, and he wears suspenders with no shirt, purple symbol tattooed onto his chest.

            “What a fucking prick,” Sollux mutters to Eridan, who snickers.

            “It’s preposterous how many people can sail a ship when they can’t even get the wherewithal to find a fuckin’ comb.”

            “Or a shirt.”

            “Definitely doesn’t have a good enough body for that, fuckin’ hell, getting’ all up in arms over his first two abs showin’, I see.”

            The rescue captain jumps off the ramp and slowly paces towards where Cerati and Darzey are standing. “Well, if it ain’t my favorite lonely diamonds,” he says, and winks. “Hey Q, I figured it was your ship that went and crashed itself.”

            Cerati rolls his eyes as the rescue captain wraps him up in a loose embrace. He gnashes his teeth down on his tongue. “ _Hi_ , Velino. Didn’t know you got your chest tattooed.”

            Velin0-apparently- pulls back and smiles. “You like? I got it done by the same gal that inked over the horrific and gruesome scar you gave to your moirail. You know, back in the good old days when me and you were as red as roonie lipstick.”

            Darzey’s lip curls and he spins on his heel, moving back a few paces to stand at Sollux’s other side. “Fucking bastard,” he mutters under his breath. “No wonder the ship got here so fast, fucking gloating shirtless idiot clown boy.”

            Eridan looks up with alert eyes. “I’m not gonna die,” he says flatly, ignoring everything except for the giant carnival ship. “A fuckin’ shirtless brinesuckin’ clown in polka-dot suspenders saved my fuckin’ life.”

            “Speaking of red,” Velino says, combing a hand through his ragged mess of a hairdo. “Got anybody spe-“ He freezes upon seeing the strike wound on the side of Cerati’s face, and grips his presumable kismesis’ shoulders. His tone goes dark. “Who did this?”

            “Long story. Not- not a blackrom thing, gimme some fuckin’ credit. Unless you’re concerned about the pain inflicted on my beautiful face, which in case, stop. I’m not flippin’ with you again.”

             The pilot steps forward, and, for the first time in over 24 hours, Sollux hears him talk. He’s been mourning the death of his moirail, as far as Sollux is aware, spending a hell of a lot of time away from the campsite crying. Now, however, he looks as well as ever behind his sunglasses, going up to his matesprit and standing next to him, towering over the both of them, not just in height, though he’s decently tall, but he’s broad across the shoulders and tough-looking with the addition of bruises and cuts. “So you’re my matesprit’s kismesis,” he says, emphasizing matesprit with enough passion to make Velino flinch. “Now are you letting us on this fucking ship or not?”

            Laferi grabs her and Casice’s suitcases and starts making her way to the ramp. “I’m sure as hell not going to die on a mountain because fishboy and tallsocks are having quadrant drama.” She offers her hand to Velino. “Laferi Motoma, engineer. And this is Casice Beauic, medicull nurse. Thanks for the rescue.”

            Velino smiles, contented, and watches them climb up the ramp. “Coming, fishy?” he asks, dripping with a doting fake concern, dropping to one knee and extending his palm to his kismesis.

            Said kismesis puts a tight grip on it, drags it up over his shoulder, and pulls them together to engage in the reddest blackrom snogs that Sollux has ever seen in person, so much that he finds Eridan leaning forward, as if to get closer to the impending quadrant. drama.

            He never gets his entertainment, however, as the pilot simply power-walks past them, squeezing the handle of his suitcase tightly enough to dent the plastic, and joins the two girls at the top.

            Sollux wastes no time scooping Eridan back up and floating their baggage behind them as he follows suit. A few steps up the ramp, his muscles begin to ache and he attempts to use psionics to carry Eridan, but the sea dweller screams upon getting shocked with an accidental psychic pinch, reminding Sollux of how shitty he is at floating living things. It requires a level of absolute control- controlling psionics is like controlling a fire; it’s so simple to wrap an immobile suitcase in sparks, but as soon as Eridan moves, he has to readjust his grip, has to strain his brain until it aches in the front of his skull trying to keep a spark from crackling.

            “Sollux!” he yelps upon getting pinched once more pushing a palm under Sollux’s glasses and against his eyes, trying to stop the psions. Sollux shakes him off before he manages to affect them. “Watch it!”

            He mutters a half-assed apology, but, smirking ever so slightly, delivers a deliberate psychic pinch right to the lower-left portion of Eridan’s asscheek.

            The girlish scream that he gets in response is worth the scorn of his matesprit. “ _Sollux!”_ Eridan shrieks, grabbing fistfuls of Sollux’s hair and yanking their faces together to bump foreheads, lining Sollux up with Eridan’s furrowed brow. Almost simultaneously, they purse their lips to share the briefest of pecks, barely even touching together, and immediately break away in mirrored amused smirks.

            Confused, the pilot turns back to look at the two of them. He’s expressionless behind his glasses, but the crossed arms and slouch in his stance do a good enough job of showing his impatience. “The fuck are you two up to?” he asks, humour in his voice despite the hostility of his body.

            “He’s fuckin’ abusin’ me is what- goddamn psychic asspinches assaultin’ an innocent, injured troll such as myself.”

            The pilot chortles and shrugs, leading them into a long metal ramp that will presumably take them to the interior of the ship. “Just keep it down; not everybody wants to hear honeymooning Baked Alaska, alright? I mean, I don’t care; I just don’t want to see it.”

            Sollux rolls his eyes and follows him down the hallway, gripping Eridan, who suddenly went quiet, tighter. “Baked Alaska,” Eridan mutters. “Even shittier of a pun than ‘complimentary pailin’.”

            Sollux has no clue what it means, if he’s to be perfectly honest, but assumes that it’s something negative about him and Eridan being together- on the mountaintop, they hadn’t blatantly kissed in front of anybody, but did a marvellously shitty job of keeping it private due to the fact that Eridan was- and still is, to some extent- teetering on the cliff edge of death and Sollux wasn’t sure he would ever see home again. Keeping his apparently “scandalous” relationship secret had hardly even crossed his mind.

            “Hot an’ cold at the same time?” Eridan says, noting the confusion knitting between his matesprit’s brows.

            “Huh?”

            “Merlin’s saggy left shame globe, have you never had Baked Alaska before?”

            Sollux quickens his pace. “I don’t want your weird fucking fish food. Some of us want our piss to not immediately form salt crystals.”

            Eridan uses all of his strength to sit up to kiss Sollux on the cheek, laughing in a way that is equal parts disbelieving and condescending, like he’s explaining pailing to a child. “It’s ice cream, Sol. Cake an’ ice cream all covered in meringue an’ plopped in an’ oven to incinerate an’ be reborn from its fiery pits.”

            “Never heard of it. I guess you’ll just have to buy me some when we get home.”

            “I’ll spoon-feed it to you an’ everythin’ so you don’t dribble it all over your suit I’m gonna buy you.”

            “Are you implying that I don’t have dozens of expensive tailored suits already? I can’t fucking believe you.” Sollux grins. “But yeah, I think we proved that I’m a messy eater a couple weeks ago.”

            Eridan’s face first goes confused, then, like a lightbulb being turned on, goes bright and his eyes dart away from his snickering matesprit.

           

            They walk in silence for a few more moments, listening to the pair of moirails behind them bitch together about Velino, about his hair, his tattoos, his voice, his typing quirk (which is apparently near-unintelligible), and his entire life history, all compacted in the span of about thirty seconds due to Cerati’s professional motor mouthing.

            “Y’all can have one of the crew’s blocks,” Velino calls from way in front of them, already at the archway where dank metal corridor meets warm and bright balconies and stairways. The ship is richly decorated, but tacky as all hell, covered in stripes and banners like an old circus caravan. As they pile out into the hallway, dozens of trolls on board glance over casually, all sporting some shade of blue, many carrying a lusus in tow. Sollux is certain that he spots more than one pair of trolls sporting the same symbol, one with much larger horns than the other, and sucks in his breath. “There should be enough berths for the lot of you. If not, then, well, sleep on the floor.” He ushers them to follow down the stairs.

            Down the open stairways, Sollux can see nothing but leisurely things to do- two different restaurants are in his view, one lusus friendly and one not, a casino, two bars and an entire putting green for mini golf. As they descend flight after flight, they cross paths with signs pointing to shopping, art exhibits, movie theatres, observatories and eateries, among other things.

            They go all the way down to the first floor of the massive cruise ship, through a doorway that leads to the sleeping area for the crew, a long narrow hallway lit up with lights on the floors and empty berths indented in the walls. All the way at the end, the berths are made to perfection and lack strewn clothing and belongings.

            “Y’all can sleep here,” Velino says, taking Laferi’s suitcase and sliding it into a compartment below the berth. “If you haven’t noticed, this is a leisure cruise for retired trolls to spend time with their descendants and lusii, so there’s a strict no-violence rule. Anyway, feel free to do whatever you want. I’ll fetch y’all some guest cards and get Prince Q back there to cover the costs later. His treat.”

            “I can hear you, you know.”

            Velino pats the berth next to him. “These berths should all be empty. Questions?”

            Eridan huffs. “Yeah, I’ve got one. Can somebody take me to a fuckin’ hospital so I can get some air to make it’s merry way through my fuckin’ lungs?”

            Sollux snorts and sinks them both down onto one of the berths. They’re much more comfortable than the ones from the slave bunker, though not even close to possessing the luxury of Eridan’s old berth.

            “Yeah, yeah,” Velino says, plucking a phone from his belt. “All y’all should get to the first aid centr- yes?” He begins to talk into the receiver. “Yeah, I got, uh… seven trolls all fucked halfway to the mirthful messiah’s dildo. What? It’s a very common figure of speech, quit being such an intolerant bulgesmear. Hm? Yeah, I got one fishboy who’s pretty much chum. Q’s here too, what a fucking co-in-killy-dink. Qardas, the other fishboy. Yup. Yup. Yes. Kisses!” He sighs and sticks the phone back in his belt, ushering them to file out the way they came all the way across the ship to an extensive first aid centre.

           

            Eridan and Laferi get wheeled into surgery right away, while Sollux gets taken into a small office with a nurse who makes him strip down to his boxers. She tsk’s at the whip scars on his back, berating him for letting them heal without proper medicull attention.

            “You think I can afford a fucking doctoperator?” he snaps, drawing his chest in to disrupt the stethoscope reading. She ignores him, continuing to go over his body and continue scolding him in the same fashion when she sees the shiny white bite marks in his shoulder. “And I’m fucking fine, I got hit in the head a couple times and fell down a story or two. Go help your friends sew Eridan’s insides back together.”

            “He your moirail?” she asks, grabbing his hand and twisting the ring on his finger. It’s been on for so long that it leaves a dark grey splotch behind as it moves. “Byzantium, such a beautiful colour.”

            “No,” Sollux says, but reels back when he realizes with an internal facepalm that there’s no other relationship that he can have with Eridan that isn’t taboo. “I’m colourblind, lucky me.”

            She gives the ring a final prod and lets his hand snap back to stab holes in the sanitary paper over the bed. “Oh?” she says, “You don’t get confused over the hemospectrum?”

* * *

 

 

> TA: ii'm ju2t 2ayiing you're probably goiing two lo2e more than one liimb.   
> TA: and no, that wa2n't a fiigure of 2peech. iit'2 called flarpiing becau2e iit's FATAL LIIVE ACTIION ROLEPLAYIING.   
> CG: WELL FUCK ME, DO WE HAVE A BOY IN THE THROES OF PALE LUST?   
> TA: more liike a bro who ii2 beiing decent by tryiing two 2ave your ungrateful liife, but you wouldn't know 2iince you've never even had a friiend iin your liife ehehe.   
> TA: who the fuck ii2 thii2 eriidan douchebag anyway, he 2ound2 iin2ufferable.   
> CG: HE IS UNSUFFERABLE, BUT BY SOME CRUEL TRICK BY THE HANDS OF GOD, HE IS- GUESS WHAT? MY FRIEND. SO YOU CAN SHOVE YOUR SHIT DIAPER "ARGUMENT" BACK INTO YOUR SOGGY, GAPING NOOK.   
> CG: WE'VE BEEN FRIENDS PRACTICALLY SINCE WE HAD SIX SLIMY PHALLIC PROTRUSTIONS IN OUR PUPATIC CHESTS, TO MY UTTER FUCKING DISMAY.   
> TA: whatever, iif he wa2 really your friiend, he wouldn't be tryiing two lure you iinto a death game liike a fucking venu2 douche trap.   
> CG: OKAY, BACK THE FUCK UP, HE'S BEEN FLARPING FOR AGES AND HE'S COMPLETELY ALIVE AND NOTABLY *NOT* DIGESTING IN THE ACIDIC SAC OF A FAKE BULLSHIT PLANT.   
> CG: I'M ADDING HIM TO THE CONVERSATION. IT'S ABOUT TIME YOU MET ANYWAY, CONSIDERING HE'S MY BEST FRIEND AND YOU'RE SOME SIDEWALK ASSHOLE THAT FOLLOWED HIS WAY ONTO MY CONTACTS LIST WHO HAS NO FRIENDS TO SPEAK OF ASIDE FROM SOME POSSIBLY FICTIONAL BEAUTY QUEEN ARCHAEOLOGIST DEATH FANGIRL.   
> TA: whoa, ii have never called aa a beauty queen, 2top makiing 2hiit up.   
> CG: SO SHE'S NOT BEAUTIFUL, IS THAT RIGHT?   
> TA: well no 2he i2.   
> TA: ii mean.   
> TA: FUCK OFF, at lea2t 2he actually talk2 two me on a regular ba2ii2.   
> TA: oh, ii2 that what thii2 ii2 about? doe2 tz flarp?   
> CG: TIME OUT, GO SIT IN THE RETARD CORNER.   
> TA: ehehe iit totally ii2.   
> CG: NO COMMENTS FROM THE RETARD CORNER.   
> CG: I'M FLARPING WITH ERIDAN.   
> CG: IT WILL BE SO MONUMENTALLY FUCKBALLS AWESOME THAT STREAMERS WILL SHOOT FROM OUR EVERY ORFICE AND OUR FARTS WILL SOUND THE MERRY TUNES OF KAZOOS.   
> CG: END OF STORY.   
> TA: ii'm not lettiing you flarp dude. or ii2 iit becau2e hiip2 ii2 two hard for you?? lmao.   
> CG: LOOK, I'M COMPLETELY FLATTERED BY THIS DISPLAY OF DIAMOND AFFECTION, BUT YOU NEED TO FILL YOUR MOUTH WITH SOMETHING LONG AND PHALLIC SO YOU'LL STOP SHOOTING THE EXPLOSIVE DIARHEA YOU CALL WORDS OUT.   
> CG: HERE, MY DEAR FRIEND ERIDAN WILL EXPLAIN TO YOU HOW SAFE FLARPING IS.   
> CG: AND BY THE WAY, I'M DOING YOU A HUGE FAVOR, I'M A MILLION FUCKING PERCENT CERTAIN THAT YOU'LL GET ALONG CONSIDERING YOU BOTH HATE EVERY FUCKING THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD, ESPECIALLY COMMON SENSE.   
> TA: oh, that'2 riich comiing from you.
> 
> [CG] added caligulasAquarium [CA] to the conversation
> 
> CG: ERIDAN MEET SOLLUX, SOLLUX MEET ERIDAN. YOU MAY NOW REFER TO EACH OTHER BY YOUR BORDERLINE FETISHISTIC NICKNAMES.   
> CA: hi   
> TA: oh, you're fuckiing jokiing.   
> CA: kar says that youre scared of him flarpin is that right    
> TA: NO IIT'2 NOT FUCKIING RIIGHT.   
> TA: iif he lo2e2 hii2 hand, he'll ruiin our coop that'2 liiterally the only rea2on ii am concerned. ii am concerned for my coop. that ii2 all.   
> CA: hmm   
> TA: what the fuck do you mean by hmm??    
> CA: methinks youre as pale as the mornin sky wwatchin out for your coop buddy or wwhatevver the fuck that means   
> CA: its farmvville isnt it like chicken coop   
> TA: you're a drooliing dumba22, ii hope you know that. CO-OP. cooperatiive mode?? or do you need me two 2pell iit iin that godawful pretend 2ea dweller quiirk of your2, where do you even get off doiing that, ii do not know.   
> TA: cooperativve elel!!11!   
> TA: ehehehe but 2eriiou2ly, how about you fuck off and not lead my cooperativvvvvvvvve partner two an early grave.   
> CA: as an EXPERIENCED flarper let me tell you that kar is completely safe wwith me on his team givven that i am a hatched wwinner   
> TA: ehehe are you for real??   
> CA: oh i get it this is a pickup line isnt it WWELL yes i am for real im not from your dreams   
> CA: though i might as wwell be you cant havve me black okay that quadrant is hatefully occupied already her name is vvriska maybe youvve heard of us wwere sort of the it couple nowwadays   
> CA: but my red is open not hintin at anythin just clearin up any misconceptions that you may havve   
> TA: oh my god.   
> CA: i knoww its really shockin ESPECIALLY if you saww my face i got nose freckles an evverythin    
> TA: ii have never platoniically dii2liiked 2omebody 2o much iin 2uch a 2hort amount of tiime.   
> TA: and are you 2eriiou2ly iimplyiing that ii would want you two be my mate2priit lmao you play game2 for liittle giirl2 and talk liike a 2aiilor jacked up on moron pii22.   
> CA: EXCUSE YOU i wwas not implyin nothin and if anybody ha2 anythin to do wwith piss it is most certainly not myself you gutterlickin mustard hog   
> TA: wow, hiigh and miighty for a ru2tblood.   
> CA: ??????   
> CG: SHITTING FUCK, I WALK AWAY FROM THE HUSKTOP FOR TWO SECONDS AND THIS GREETS MY ORBITAL SOCKETS?   
> CG: ALSO SOLLUX, YOU COLORBLIND FUCK, HE'S VIOLET, NOT RED.   
> TA: oh.   
> CA: damn fuckin right oh   
> CA: boww before your prince an kiss my fuckin feet you pale lustin rubbish   
> TA: 2ure, riight after ii 2aw my own fuckiing horns off and 2hove them up my wa2te chute.   
> CA: holy fuck   
> CA: are you gettin off to this is that a metaphor for    
> CA: putting a you knoww wwhat in the you knoww wwhere   
> TA: WHAT??   
> TA: NO, iit'2 a metaphor for II DON'T WANT YOU NEAR ME AND II'D RATHER MY FIINGERNAIIL2 BE PULLED FROM MY 2KIIN THAN BE YOUR MATE2PRIIT.   
> CA: thats a pretty harsh judgement sol you hardly knoww me   
> TA: don't fuckiing niickname me, you're 2o awful.   
> CA: wwell you wwont be sayin im awwful wwhen me an kar are tearin up battlefields in our GLORIOUS campaigns wwhile youre still sittin on your cheeto crusted hindquarters playin farmvville   
> TA: okay, whatever, ii'm done wiith arguiing wiith you, you're 2o moroniic that iit'2 exhau2tiing.   
> TA: kk, go diie iin a flarpiing battlefiield for all ii care, iit wiill be apt punii2hment for iintroduciing me two thii2 a22hole.
> 
> [TA] has left the conversation

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A translation for the earlier parts of Eridan's speech is [here ](http://pumpionly.tumblr.com/post/53823228938/chapter-18-translation)


	19. Audacious Old People and Audible Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter requires a basic knowledge of Frank Sinatra's hit songs. [[X](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENJdNHIBHTY)] [[X](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIiUqfxFttM)]
> 
> I also forgot to mention that I did some more drawings of the side characters in this chapter, [here](http://cullionly.tumblr.com/post/53253484458/posts-bit-crainbow-characters-late-at-night-when).

Chapter 19: Audacious Old People and Audible Intimacy

 

            Sollux wakes to sounds of muffled banging and groaning from the hygiene block sometime in the early morning, clammy and damp from sweat. The inside of his skull feels like it’s cracked from an internal anvil beating against it, and in spite of the lack of voices, his splitting migraine is enough to make his eyes water and his desires linger a bit too far into the death territory.

            On his third suicide fantasy, he becomes aware of a fan whirring gently, and, when he looks over through wet eyes, sees the dark outline of Eridan, sleeping across the narrow hallway with a plastic mask over his mouth. His arm is hanging out to slightly beyond the centre of the hallway; his hand looks as if it’s glowing purple from from the dim hallway lights shining through the thin stretches of skin between his fingers. Sollux has never noticed before, so it may be in his groggy mind, but that piece of skin joining Eridan’s fingers looks a hair longer and thinner than his own, like the first steps towards being webbed.

            His first thought upon seeing Eridan’s arm splayed out into the hallway is that the IV drip must be placed too far from his wrist and the tube is tugging; his first feeling is that Eridan is trying to reach out at for him.

            He likes his feeling better.

            The gap between them is narrow enough that Sollux can comfortably weave his fingers with Eridan’s, forming a red rover-style barricade of the hallway, and, even though he’s teetering on the line to being an insomniac, he’s fine lying awake for hours, hearing to two trolls fucking in the bathroom, as long as Eridan’s hand is in his own.

 

* * *

 

            He can hear the squeeze of his lungs filling and the thrum of blood rushing through his veins, every second another drop in the never-ending series of aches and pains, stinging cuts and painful bruises inside of him and out.

            But he’s alive.

            The oxygen mask comes off as soon as he wakes up, and Casice does the liberty of removing the IV drip and hoisting Eridan into a wheelchair. Sollux is fast asleep, mouth hanging open in a way that should be entirely unbecoming, accented with a line of drool, but Eridan finds it intensely charming, and drifts his eyes over far too many times in the short conversation that ensues with the nurse troll.

            He’s just so damn adorable, sunken into his pillows and mattress like he’s pleading not to be woken up, cheek smushed into the bedding, arms hanging off the edge of the bed so far that they bump against Eridan’s thigh when he’s set in his chair.

            “Wish I could have slept like that,” Casice mutters. “No veneration, damn boys.”

            “I don’t think that’s the word you want,” Eridan mutters right back. In the few days that he’s known Casice, he found that she has a penchant for spitting out big words that aren’t appropriate. “An’ I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, so either brief me or take it to someone else.”

            Casice starts wheeling Eridan through the hallway, through the swinging door at the end and into a nicer hall with elevators at the end. “Loud pailing. Loud as in, they were across the hallway from me, separated by one very thin bathroom door.”

            Eridan goes flush. He had been out cold from the second they wheeled him into surgery all through the night, waking up only briefly to see Sollux take his hand before falling back into a deep sleep and rising only because Casice tempted him with promises of a breakfast consisting of something other than soda crackers- that being a nice smoothie that he’ll be able to guzzle down with ease and fill the black hole that his stomach has turned into due to not eating anything other than half a cracker in three days.

            The breakfast buffet has the layout of a cafeteria, though finely decorated and arranged to scream out elegance, with hooded tables of warmed food that Casice slowly wheels Eridan through, filling her own engraved metal tray with nothing but sausages, bacons and the ham picked from sandwiches and giving Eridan strict restrictions on what he can and can’t choose, leaving him with his promised smoothie and a massive scoop of egg whites.

            A long blue table covered in a silky cloth at the back has all the refugees save for Sollux, who Eridan hopes is sleeping soundly back in the crew bunker, with a gap in the mahogany bench to separate them from the grotesque display of furtively vacillating affection radiating from Cerati and Velino, who are sitting so close that they’re almost of top of each other, whispering between forkfuls of hash browns and bites of toast.

            Casice uses Eridan to bridge the gap, wheeling him up between the two benches to sit beside the pilot while she plops next to Laferi. Eridan tries to kill her instantly with his stare.

            “Good. Morning.” The pilot says through gritted teeth, adding dozens more stabs to his stack of shredded pancakes with his fork. “Lovely night, hm?”

            Eridan flinches when he presses down with the base of his fork, squeezing out some syrup that gushes from the fork holes like the blood of his culled breakfast, turning to Darzey for some sort of refuge from the wild miniature culling fork. Instead of saving Eridan from certain death by silverware via a long monologue about how happy he is that Eridan is alive and well, he responds to the pleading gaze with a simple, “Where’s Sollux?”

            The rate at which Eridan sucks down his smoothie could probably exceed most imperial spaceships. “Still sleepin’,” he gasps, the long suck from his straw causing a lack of air to enter his lungs and tighten his chest. He starts to cough, deep and throaty, tasting blood and phlegm with the strawberry-mango aftertaste of his smoothie.

            “I bet he is,” the pilot says, and raises his voice. “I’m sure we could all use some extra sleep after _how loud **certain things** were yesterday.”_

            Velino leans over the table to stare him right in the sunglasses. Eridan leans back, not wanting to get in the way of such a venomous glare. “Baldy, give it a rest. We ain’t been with each other for almost a whole sweep.”

            As soon as the pilot starts raising his voice, Eridan snatches up his phone to try to hide behind, thankful for the waterproof coating that comes with most phones on Alternia.

\--

> CA: good mornin starshine  
> CA: i saww you droolin

\--

            “Oh, of course, you and your quote unquote “kismesis”, who you so tenderly coddled yesterday.”

\--

> TA: ii2 that how the 2ayiing goe2.  
> CA: good mornin starshine  
> CA: i knoww you held my hand last night an it wwas adorable  
> TA: clo2er, but ii don't thiink that'2 quiite iit.

 

\--

            “You… you heard all that?”

            “Ooh, stop, my broken leg, my poor fucking broken leg—oh, oh baby sorry, I’m so _fucking sorry_!”

\--

> CA: okay one last time  
> CA: good mornin starshine  
> CA: your vvery alivve matesprit says hello  
> TA: hm, ii liike iit.  
> TA: 2omethiing about my mate2priit beiing aliive ii2 quiite appealiing.  
> CA: you sure you dont wwant my schoolgirl corpse on your mantle  
> TA: could ii have your aliive body on my lap iin2tead, or ii2 that a2kiing two much?  
> CA: BUSTED i kneww you lovve snugglin just as much as i do  
> TA: oh a2 iif, ii don't exii2t two entertaiin your 2nuggle ob2e22iion.  
> CA: okay no snuggles this evvenin  
> TA: whatever.  
> CA: okay  
> TA: yeah.

\--

            “Dude, I’m not going to re-break my kismesis’ leg if he asks me not to, you know?”

            “’Right, like that isn’t the entire idea behind kismesisitude. If you’re going to fuck my matesprit, at least try to be somewhat hateful, don’t coddle him and apologize and proceed to have some tender loving that we can all fucking hear.”

            “You couldn’t _all_ hear, could you? Eridan, did you hear anythin’?”

\--

> TA: not even a 2tandiing 2poonman?  
> CA: a wwhat  
> TA: iit'2 when you look out the wiindow and ii come and hug you from behiind and we 2tart 2wayiing two 2ome un2poken tune liike our amoeba ance2tor2.  
> CA: unspoken my toned muscle ass  
> TA: iit'2 2iinatra, you know iit ii2, ii know iit ii2, 2o 2hut up.  
> TA: 2o 2oooooooftly a2 ii leave you theeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere.  
> CA: i am strictly bamboozled by your vvast knowwledge of classic romance i really am wwere you just hidin this puffball inside a you this wwhole time  
> TA: maybe ii'm not ju2t 2ome computer ob2e22ed jacka22, ever thiink of that. maybe ii don't even liike techno and dub2tep becau2e ii'm a multiidiimen2iional per2on that liike2 the occa22iional frank 2iinatra.  
> CA: wwubwwub heheh  
> TA: ii diidn't realiize there wa2 a problem iif ii want two HAVE IINTERE2T2 NOT RELATED TO COMPUTER2 AND CODIING AND BEEP BOOP BLIIP BLAP II AM ROBO MAN everybody fuckiing hate2 me, they ba2iically ju2t talk two theiir computer2 iin2tead of me becau2e we are 2o aliike that they get confu2ed.  
> TA: ii al2o HATE 2nuggliing becau2e iit ii2n't ONLIINE and clearly ii am ju2t a 2toiic jacka22 that only doe2 COOL computer thiing2 and po22iibly thiing2 pertaiining two bee2.  
> CA: thats life  
> TA: you motherfucker.  
> CA: go back to bed <3  
> TA: THANK YOU.  
> CA: wwait not yet  
> TA: wwhat.  
> CA: i lovve you!  
> TA: wow, a 2hout pole, ii diig your enthu2iia2m.  
> TA: ii love you two!  
> TA: oh my god, plea2e pretend that wa2 a typo, ii am 2o a2hamed.  
> TA: ii feel liike 2uch a raviing priick cannon.  
> TA: fuck everythiing, ii'm goiing back two 2leep. giive wave2 mcpiipiing and hii2 che2t tattoo hate 2queeze a biig FUCK YOU from me, but don't tell them iit'2 from me 2o ii don't get yelled at.  
> CA: <3 SWWEET DREAMS SOLLUX

\--

            Eridan looks up from his phone, biting his lip to keep from giggling as a flood of warmth fills his ribcage. “What’s that?”

            Cerati swallows a bite of his toast and leans in closer to Eridan, who is sucking down more smoothie. “Did you hear me and Velino having sweet, tender, red pailing yesterday?”

            “Cer, I’m not your fuckin’ relationship counsellor.”

            “You’re my _friend_!”

            “Not if you keep talkin’ about your private below the belt details, I’m not.”

            “Laferi? Casice? Did you hear us?”

            Casice stands, dusting crumbs off of her pant leg. “I’m not getting caught up in the crosshairs of your relationship debacles. Is there a steam room somewhere on this ship?”

            Velino cocks an eyebrow and pulls a map from his bag. “Yeah, in the spa, floor two,” he says, and kisses his kismesis’ earfin. “You wanna go in the hot tub, babe?”

            “Chlorine hurts my gills,” he mumbles, glancing over at his glowering matesprit and tugging at the collar of his jacket like he’s trying to pull it over his head and disappear into it. “And no.”

            Eridan jumps upon feeling his wheelchair rattle. “I’m taking Eridan there. ‘Feri, come on, let’s get massages.”

            “There’d better be some hot masseuses, clowny boy, or I’m giving this cruise a big ol’ one star out of five,” Laferi says, dropping her fork and rising in an instant.

            “Do I not have any fuckin’ say in this?” Eridan snaps, snatching up his smoothie at the last moment as his chair is torn from the cafeteria table. “The fuck do I need steam for anyway? Sounds like a bunch a’ shit to me.”

 

            He stops grumbling as soon as he gets an eyeful of the spa, a hardwood floored expanse of bubbling hot tubs, curtained massage areas and various rooms for body treatments. There are numerous workers circulating in the typical hemonomous and signless white uniforms, one of which seems to catch Laferi’s eye.

            “Loopy horns, 5:00. God damn, I’ll catch you later,” she says, running off and leaving Eridan to be pushed into the steam room by Casice.

            The air is thick and moist, just like the alien planet, and Eridan can’t help but feel his chest throb and his heartbeat quicken.

            It was the darkness, the sensory cut off, the bag over his head preventing him from seeing anything, pure vulnerability, tied to a chair and powerless, feeling kick after kick wind him and smash up his ribs- he couldn’t even see to flinch when the boot collided with his throat, strangling out the last sounds he would make for days, just a twisted and mangled scream beneath his tears and it _hurt_ ; he felt like he was nothing, like he was helpless.

            And there was one moment wherein he figured he was in hell, getting punished for everything that he’s done, for culling his slave and hurting Sollux in a hundred different ways, hurting all of his friends and abusing strangers, spitting on random lowbloods as they pass by and laughing at their attempts to crawl away from their masters, and it was all fun until it was him trying to wriggle away like a larvae in some attempt to shrink away from the pain, just to make it go away, and in that moment, he made an empty promise to remember that feeling, and to blot it out from the planet.

            If it didn’t smell like fern leaves and lavender, Eridan might start hyperventilating over the smell of the ocean above and the foggy blackness overtaking him as the ringing in his ears blared louder and louder, how he faded out and knew that he was dying, every sense shutting down and yielding to the kicks and strikes, but the aromas waft into his nostrils and remind him that he’s in a spa, about to get pampered and spoiled rotten.

            Casice leaves him into the steam room, where two other trolls are sitting, to go get a massage, saying that it’ll be good for his lungs and gills. Once he takes a breath, however, his gills are overwhelmed with the steam and start to spasm, just like on Cavotter, the place where aliens messed with his brain and made him remember things, not just things, but thoughts; when he and Sollux kissed for the first time in the train station, his first thought was “I wish it was somebody else,” even if he backpedaled and slapped his subconscious, reasoned with his gut feeling and convinced himself that maybe they could be together.

            “Well, isn’t that a familiar shirt,” the troll lady in the steam room says, breaking Eridan out of his daze. She’s big and tall, even while sitting, wide across the shoulders with a fluffy pixie cut and humongous horns like curly pig tails. The troll next to her is equally huge, with longer hair brushed back into a loose ponytail, peppered with white.

            Eridan fumbles with his chair to get himself closer. “’Scuse me?”

            The lady turns to the man, as if seeking confirmation. “Aquarius, right? He’s Ampora, remember?”

            The man tuffs and gives a low, deep cough. “Nova, Ampora’s been dead for centuries.”

            “Crotchety old fool,” she snaps right back. “It’s his descendant, the kid from the tabloids.”

            He’s used to being recognized everywhere he goes, but Eridan’s eyes snap up. “Are you implyin’ that you knew my ancestor?”

            The lady scoots down a row to be closer to Eridan. “Well sure, kiddo!” She extends her hand. “Pyrenova, pleased to make your acquaintance. This is my fatemate, the Ephesian.”

            More curiosity starts to pool in Eridan’s throat. He’s been enamoured by the idea of fatemates before- they’re the ultimate declaration of true, made-for-each-other love, proven with hard evidence in front of His Dishonourable Tyranny himself and resulting in an exceptional reward in the form of immunity from the drones, till death do you part.

            Eridan has never met anybody who has ever managed to elevate to such a status, though he’s sure that they exist. “You two are actually…?”

            “Oh, sweetheart,” Pyrenova says, lifting a hand to stop Eridan. “When you’re as old as we are, everybody’s had the chance to find the one they’re destined for.” She turns to the Ephesian. “Such a shame I couldn’t be destined for one with a bigger bulge, but you gotta take ‘em as they are.”

            The Ephesian doesn’t seem offended by her notion, just chuckles and adjusts his glasses. “You know, you young folk’ve got some wicked inventions. We just got one of them vibrating-“

            “-So, my ancestor,” Eridan cuts in, face burning hot. “Can you tell me about him?”

            “Dualscar,” Pyrenova says wistfully, leaning back and letting the steam circulate around her. “I knew him only briefly, but my former kismesis was close to him. I spoke with him… centuries ago, not too long before he was culled. Snippy man, very serious. He was obsessed with working on the Condesce’s ship. We all figured he was in love with her.”         

            Eridan knows a little bit from Vriska waving Mindfang’s journal in his face, knows that he apparently had flushed feelings for the empress, and was jealous of Mindfang’s red partners, although Eridan always shook his head and reminded Vriska that she was reading one side of the story, and that Dualscar was way too cool to be jealous of Mindfang’s dirtscum lovers, and the empress was probably in love with him.

            He hasn’t thought about Dualscar in a long time, certainly not as an actual person who existed rather than a FLARP alter-ego, and finds, with much pride, that he’s far less defensive than he used to be. It’s the stories that he loves, rich history pertaining to his bloodline; he’s ten and a half, not six, and he doesn’t need to build his entire identity on a long-dead ancestor.

            The Ephesian shakes his head. “No, no- not even close. I heard he was a buffoon, always distracted by something, always flirting, and with those wretched slam poems- or songs or whatever he called them.”

            Eridan perks up. “He wrote music? Do you think any of it’s still around?”

            The Ephesian shrugs. “Maybe. His murderer probably has all of his belongings; I think it’s him that keeps all the things with him.”

            “You mean his murderer’s still alive?”

            This time, it’s Pyrenova that chimes in. “the Grand Highblood, heard of him? You can’t imagine the sweeps in court that they put him through after that one, killing a prince, but he got out on a technicality.”

            Eridan’s heard the name before in the news; the Grand Highblood is one of the most prominent subjuggalators, in close contact with the empress herself, and a notoriously capricious one at that. It was him that had culled the last of the limebloods, along with many others, as they attempted to pacify him as a moirail with their uncanny calming abilities.

            As such, he’s universally reviled for being more of a hindrance to Alternia than anything positive, but he’s uniquely skilled and old enough that his knowledge is irreplaceable.

            Steam crawls into Eridan’s nostrils and gills; he allows himself one moment to ponder thoughts of revenge before tossing them aside as nothing more than childish fantasies.

            “I know his descendant,” Eridan says. “We’re friends though, or as friendly as one can get with a rot-panned clown.”

            “Better than mine,” Pyrenova sighs, “She’s on the ship with us, little rascal. Probably swimming.”

            Eridan scans Pyrenova’s face for the first signs of gills, finding instead ears that are slightly scaly, not even close to the earfins of sea dwellers. “Did you know anything about a matesprit?”

            “Like I said, I wasn’t too close to him. I’m afraid I don’t know much. Though I heard he had-“ Pyrenova lowers her voice and leans in close, grinning wickedly, “- _a powerful erection_.”

            The Ephesian chuckles upon seeing Eridan’s flushed face. “Hope she didn’t’ offend you too badly, sonny.” He swirls his tongue around in his mouth and spits out a tooth. “Ah, fuck, got another one.”

            Pyrenova stops her chuckling and brings her fatemate’s head onto her chest, stroking his hair gently. “When did the first one come out again?”

            “Hmm, three weeks ago?”

            Eridan squints at the two of them. They’ve suddenly become completely somber, chests weighed down and every motion sluggish. “What is it?” he asks, unable to contain his burning curiosity, though he knows he ought to keep his mouth shut.

            “Oh, honey, you’ll find out when you’re older,” Pyrenova croons, and her fatemate shakes his head.

            “The teeth start coming out when you’re almost done,” he says, “that’s why we’re on this ship in the first place, spending the last while I have somewhere nice.”

            Eridan turns around to let them have their moment, and even though he tries to stop, he can’t help but think of Sollux’s smile breaking apart.

* * *

 

> antiquatedObsession [AO] messaged opulentAgent [OA]  
> renownedNarcomata [RN] was added to the conversation  
> vilipendedDread [VD] was added to the conversation  
> monochromeSamovar [MS] was added to the conversation  
> cateyeFontentelle [CF] was added to the conversation  
> caligulasAquarium [CA] was added to the conversation  
> twinArmageddons [TA] was added to the conversation
> 
> AO: :P-- Got you Guys rooms! Took lots of hassling but I Got 3 s:Pare res:Pite blocks.  
> CF: (O,O)  
> CF: (=,=)  
> VD: > okay what do you mean 3 rooms how big are we talking  
> AO: :P-- :Probably like 2 :Per room?  
> AO: :P-- So Motoma and Beauic Ca:Ptor and Darzey and you can Go with Am:Pora  
> CF: (^3^)  
> TA: eheh what the FUCK.  
> CF: (-uO)  
> CF: (OuO)  
> TA: dude, ii do NOT liike you iin that way what2oever.  
> CF: (D_D) I'm kidding, you socially retarded weirdo.  
> TA: what the fuck am ii 2uppo2ed two thiink, you mole2ted me a couple week2 ago.  
> CF: (-n-) It wasn't my idea.  
> CF: (;A;) It was my dear departed friend.  
> CA: oh uh im sorry about that  
> CF: <(-3-)> It's okay, it happens. I miss his buggy, buggy eyes though.  
> OA: 8( <>  
> CF: <>

\--

> VD: >> id rather room with my matesprit you know  
> VD: >>> no offence to ampora  
> CA: id rather be wwith my moirail  
> VD: >>>> of course you would  
> CA: wwhat you wwanna fuckin talk shit of course i wwant to be wwith my moirail rather than a bald sunspec wwearin landwwalker  
> MS: ,casual reminder that were in space / where theres no fucking land come on'  
> CA: wwell that is BESIDE THE POINT wwhat im gettin at is not just that his default state is truckin across FILTHY dirt instead a treadin the PURE ocean wwater but i mean hes an insufferable prick an i dont wwant to room wwith him id rather room with my swweet pale romancer  
> OA: he's not a prick, he's just on edge because of the recent passin of his moirail is all.  
> OA: personally i think it would b great if u roomed with captor he'2 really good @ takin care of u.  
> RN: <.If th/\t's the c/\se, why don't I room with /\mpor/\? It re/\lly goes without mention th/\t I'm the most qu/\lified considering I SPECI/\LIZE in the more intric/\te mech/\nics of se/\ dweller /\n/\tomy.>  
> MS: ,shit you just wanna be there if / he starts coughing blood or smth gross'  
> MS: ,thats my // girl'  
> RN: <.It's purely b/\sed on my desire to help /\nd m/\ke some /\CTU/\L use of my speci/\liz/\tion.>  
> TA: two fuckiing bad, we're roomiing twogether.  
> CA: wwait sol can wwe talk about this first  
> TA: are you fuckiing jokiing, there'2 no dii2cu22iion, why the fuck wouldn't you want two be wiith me, 2eriiou2 que2tiion.  
> CA: givve us a sex  
> CA: *sec  
> CA: fuck just gimme a minute here  
> OA: lol.

\--

> CA: i just dont wwant people to start thinkin wwere together  
> TA: we are twogether.  
> CA: wwell yeah but they dont havve to knoww that  
> TA: ii guess.  
> CA: <3  
> TA: no, you don't get a fuckiing heart, you're beiing a priick.  
> CA: does it matter if people knoww or not wwhat matters is that i lovve you right  
> CA: people are fuckin SHIT alwways spewwin off their fuckin landslander regardin you an me i just wwant to be happy wwith you not truckin through mounds a obloquy  
> TA: well yeah, ii get iit.  
> TA: iit'2 fiine, forget ii 2aiid anythiing, ii'm beiing the priick, you're actually makiing 2en2e.  
> CA: no tell me  
> CA: wwhats your feelins lets jam honey  
> TA: diid you 2eriiou2ly ju2t 2ay let'2 jam honey.  
> CA: no i typed it  
> TA: ii gue22 ii ju2t never thought my mate2priit would have two be a2hamed of me, but iin retro2pect ii can't iimagiine anybody ever NOT beiing a2hamed of a fuckup liike me eheh.  
> TA: iimagiine anybody takiing me home two theiir lu2u2 that'2 a fuckiing laugh.  
> TA: ha  
> TA: ha  
> TA: oh god ii'm ju2t 2lappiing my knee2 riight now, giiviing them a good hard 2pankiing.  
> CA: im not ashamed of you thats ludicrous  
> CA: i just dont wwanna deal wwith all the fuckin scandals  
> TA: ii 2aiid ii get iit.  
> CA: B(  
> TA: iit'2 fiine, iit's probably better that you room wiith a nur2e anyway con2iideriing you're iinjured and my olympiic level cuddle2 would only make thiing2 wor2e.  
> CA: i wwant the olympic levvel cuddles  
> CA: i wwant your snuggles you dont evven fuckin understand my arms are atrophyin into wwet pasta  
> TA: iit'2 been ONE DAY.  
> CA: im addicted to the cuddles one day is enough to get me cuddle wwithdrawwl i told you i havve a strict regimen
> 
> \--
> 
> CA: change of heart sol is roomin wwith me  
> CA: im crazy unstable id probably attack poor cas i need my moirail  
> RN: <.I c/\n t/\ke ca/\re of myself...>  
> MS: ,its cool bra just room with me // itll be like girls night yeehaw'  
> RN: <./\lright, serves me right for trying to help!>  
> MS: ,</>'  
> MS: ,aww fuck pain in // the ass quirk'  
> MS: ,<> / there'  
> RN: <.<>.>  
> CF: (OuO)  
> TA: you know that that look2 2tupiid, riight?  
> CF: (Q_Q)  
> OA: ok so is everythin sorted?  
> AO: :P-- Actually :Pretty much nothing is sorted  
> AO: :P-- I Guess Ennric is rooming with a s:Pecial lemonface that used to be my :Pailslave!  
> OA: do u have 2 bring that up every time we talk?  
> CF: (OAO)  
> CA: wwho the fuck is ennric  
> OA: is that ur moirail or somethin  
> VD: >>>>> ...weve been together for almost a perigree  
> VD: >>>>>> did you not even think to find out the name of the person you were dating  
> OA: well ok we reached a point where it was 2 awkward 2 ask.  
> MS: ,pilot man is that / your name for serious'  
> MS: ,how the fuck did clowny figure it out in like // 12 hours i worked with him for six weeks'  
> OA: it never even came up in coversation  
> VD: >>>>>>> it didnt seem important to mention  
> VD: >>>>>>>> but more importantly im rooming with my matesprit you juggalo slut  
> CF: (OoO)  
> OA: oh snap!  
> TA: oh my god, ii am laughiing 2o fuckiing hard riight now, iif iit were po22iible two have tear2 comiing from every orfiice, there would be.  
> TA: where diid that crazy 2a22 come from, plea2e tell me.  
> VD: >>>>>>>>> this isnt a laughing matter  
> AO: :P-- Actually I was Going to have Q-ball room with me <3  
> AO: :P-- Oo:Ps I mean <3<  
> VD: >>>>>>>>>> you fucking bastard  
> OA: whooaaa let's diffuse this whole situation shall we?  
> OA: WAIT NO.  
> OA: some1 else c3< please? i don't want 2 lose all my quadrants yikes.  
> MS: ,hey lil fuckers / cut it out'  
> MS: ,let fishy / fish decide'  
> OA: thank u.  
> OA: i'm roomin with my matesprit!  
> AO: :P-- Sure whatever  
> AO: :P-- Not like I really care  
> CA: wwoww fuck you are so red it hurts  
> AO: :P-- Wow you're so fucking STU:PID AND LAME  
> TA: oh my god, ma2ter of comeback2, 2omebody get thii2 guy a riibbon.  
> AO: BC-- Watch it you fucking :Pissblood scum, and be Grateful you ain't la:P:Ping the dirt from my shoes  
> CA: HEY  
> CA: dont you fuckin talk to him that wway piece a clowwn rubbish or youll be lickin the hideous grape blood tricklin dowwn from your mirthful snout is wwhat  
> AO: :P-- :P  
> AO: BC-- Who let you on this shi:P? That'2 right! ME.  
> AO: :P-- I built this entire franchise of luxury cruise liners so you will do whatever I want or be swiftly deserted at the next :Planet!  
> OA: omfg FINE i'll room with u if u'll stfu.  
> OA: if u flip on me i'm gonna cause a mutiny tho.  
> AO: :P-- Like that would ha:P:Pen! :Pshhhhhhhhhhhhhhaw.  
> MS: ,omfg you boys i // swear to god'  
> MS: ,me and cas will just be over / here crying at your delicious drama'  
> RN: Erid/\n, how is the ste/\m room? It should be improving your gill he/\lth /\s we spe/\k  
> CA: sort of stuffy i cant see a thing cause my glasses are all fogged  
> TA: how the fuck are you readiing thii2 joke of a conver2atiion then?  
> CA: shut up sol im magic  
> TA: riight, ii keep forgettiing. ii'll 2ee you back iin our room later, ii'm goiing two the iinternet cafe two catch up wiith aa and eq.  
> CA: ok <3  
> CA: i mean  
> CA: fuckin  
> CA: <>  
> CA: pain in the ass fuckin typos

* * *

 

> centaursTesticle [CT] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]
> 
> CT: D--> Hi  
> CT: D--> In early retrospect, I am not sure if you are really online or if I am making f001ish assumptions  
> CT: D--> Answer, peon  
> TA: hey.  
> CT: E%cellent  
> TA: have you blown anythiing up whiile ii've been gone.  
> CT: D--> Of course not  
> CT: D--> Why would that statement behoove me  
> TA: no rea2on.  
> TA: anyway, 2ay hii two everyone from me and eriidan.  
> TA: al2o tell them that we're datiing 2o they have 2ome tiime to settle iintwo iit, that new2 ii2 liike a cru2ty new paiir of jean2.  
> CT: D--> Who are you dating  
> TA: each other, dumba22.  
> CT: D--> Ugh  
> TA: don't even bull2hiit me, you don't giive a fuck and you know iit.  
> CT: D--> No  
> CT: D--> I give many 'fudges'  
> CT: D--> This is morally reprehensible and you will cease immediately  
> TA: you're 2tiill caught up on aradiia aren't you?  
> CT: D--> That is none of your business  
> CT: D--> Or should I say beeswa% to draw parallels to your peasant activities  
> TA: you totally are, you can't even get on your hiigh hoofbea2t becau2e me and eriidan are ju2t a2 far apart a2 you and her are.  
> CT: D--> We aren't dating  
> TA: ii know.  
> TA: 2eriiou2ly though, ha2 2he been talkiing two you at lea2t?  
> CT: D--> Not as much as I would like  
> TA: wow, 2orry two hear that man.  
> CT: D--> I am requiring your input  
> CT: D--> What does it mean when a woman tells you that she will see you soon after an e%cursion  
> TA: for fuck'2 2ake, do you want me two talk two her for you.  
> CT: D--> Maybe
> 
> twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]
> 
> TA: hey.  
> AA: s0llux hi!  
> AA: h0w have y0u been?  
> TA: can we 2tart wiith you becau2e you're u2iing 2hout pole2 and a2k noodle2, diid eq try two buiild you a robot body agaiin.  
> AA: n0 he didnt  
> AA: and im n0t any different  
> AA: ive just been getting better at pretending 0_0  
> TA: that'2 the bleake2t 2hiit ii've heard iin a whiile, have you ever con2iidered beiing iin an iin2piiratiional photo collage?  
> TA: IIF YOU CAN'T BE HAPPY, GET BETTER AT PRETENDIING.  
> AA: yes!  
> AA: s0llux that is w0nderful!  
> TA: ii2 the only joy you get iin liife/afterliife fuckiing wiith me.  
> AA: a little bit  
> TA: oh yeah, eq want2 two know how you're feeliing ehehe he 2ent me two talk two you liike a wiiggler on the 2choolfeediingground.  
> AA: 0_0  
> TA: okay, ii'll tell hiim that you 2aid 0_0.  
> AA: weve been hanging 0ut a little  
> AA: but i have t0 keep a big secret from him  
> TA: okay, and that ii2??  
> AA: im helping feferi with s0me t0p secret internal affairs  
> TA: elaborate.  
> AA: she wants t0 make unprecedented culling illegal  
> AA: and ab0lish n0n c0nsensual slavery  
> AA: am0ng 0ther things  
> AA: im sure equius w0uldnt be happy with me 0_0  
> TA: why the fuck do you care what he thiink2.  
> AA: i d0nt  
> AA: i just d0nt want t0 cause a series 0f tiring arguments  
> AA: im really tired s0llux  
> TA: well go two bed then, catch 2ome gho2tly z'2.  
> AA: thats n0t what i meant but 0kay  
> TA: ii2 ff makiing any headway on all thii2 or ii2 iit ju2t another one of her BIIG PLAN2.  
> AA: were w0rking 0n it but between y0u and me  
> AA: i d0nt think its g0ing t0 happen  
> AA: but its nice t0 see her s0 h0peful  
> AA: i d0nt want t0 crush her spirits  
> AA: ill leave that up t0 y0ur b0yfriend  
> TA: waiit how diid you know about me and eriidan already, are you talkiing two eq.  
> AA: yes  
> AA: im happy f0r y0u  
> AA: even if its a relati0nship d00med t0 fail 0_0  
> TA: wow, rude.  
> AA: vriska t0ld me ab0ut his pr0blems 0nce  
> TA: oh my fuckiing god, doe2 2he tell everyone everybody'2 priivate iinformatiion, 2end her a punch two the fuckiing face.  
> TA: anyway, that ii2 NOT how our relatiion2hiip would faiil, ii'm not 2ome cavetroll requiiriing con2tant dump2 iin a paiil, ii have the capaciity two, you know, feel.  
> AA: 0_0  
> TA: plu2 me and hiim have done 2ome WIILD 2HIIT you wouldn't even under2tand.  
> TA: ii mean iin the pa2t periigree, ii've gotten a wiicked horn rub, a handjob whiile he wa2 iin uniiform and oh yeah we almo2t had 2ex once.  
> TA: ii mean we had two 2top partway iin but iit wa2 2tiill pretty okay.  
> TA: PLU2 have you ever 2een the navy captaiin uniiform2, they're pretty much worth at lea2t 3 2ex.  
> TA: waiit that doe2n't 2ound riight. 3 2exe2?  
> TA: fuck2. worth liike 3 fuck2 becau2e of how 2mokiing hot they are, ii don't even need a fryiing pan two cook bacon anymore, ii ju2t a2k my megahot mate2priit two put on hii2 uniiform and 2HAZAAM the bacon ii2 2iizzliing.  
> AA: 0_0  
> AA: s0llux  
> AA: the spirits are telling me that y0u have a b0ner  
> TA: THE 2PIIRIIT2 CAN 2UCK MY 2HEATHED BULGE2 NO II DON'T.  
> AA: 0_0  
> TA: 2TOP GIIVIING ME THAT FACE.  
> TA: II'M PERFECTLY FIINE BEIING CELIIBATE.
> 
> [TA]'s computer overheated.
> 
> twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]
> 
> TA: ERIIDAN.  
> TA: YOU AROU2E ME.  
> TA: YOU AROU2E ME EMOTIIONALLY.  
> TA: THE 2TIIRIING IIN MY LOIIN2 II2 PURELY ROMANTIIC AND NOT IIN THE LEA2T BIIT LU2TFUL.  
> TA: II WANT TWO MAKE OUT WIITH YOU AND GO NO FURTHER.  
> CA: you havve a boner dont you  
> TA: IIT'2 A BONER FOR YOU.  
> CA: wwant me to come kiss it better  
> TA: oh god plea2e.

 

* * *

 

 

            Their room comes with two berths and a wide bay window revealing a sprawling view of space, flooded with light from a glittering ceiling.

            “Pretty nice,” Sollux says idly, fidgeting and throwing their suitcases on one of the berths with his psionics while wheeling Eridan inside with his hands. “So, you wanna… you know, help me with this?” He waves down at the obvious tent in his pants with a nervous laugh. “I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine. But if you do want to, it would be great if we could get to it pretty urgently. 9-1-1 boner emergency.”

            “Your help has arrived,” Eridan laughs as he rolls his chair up to the edge of the bed, ramming Sollux down into the springy mattress with a thump, and starts to fumble at the fly of his matesprit’s pants. Sollux squeezes his hands, stopping him, and makes his way up Eridan’s arms to wrap around under his armpits and hoist him on to the bed, sending the chair rolling back. “Your payment is Olympic-level cuddles.”

            They move like every part of them is interlocked, elbows around shoulders, legs hooking around legs; there’s the clinking of their glasses against one another and the sloppy kissing that they’ve both been craving.

            Sollux kicks his shoes off, rolling over to lie on top of his matesprit and squeeze them together, but being received with a pained gasp and Eridan thrashing underneath him, in tears by the time Sollux jumps back off of him.

            “Fuck, fuck, are you okay?” Sollux pants, running a hand across Eridan’s side and getting it batted away hard enough to feel rattling his bones all the way up his arm. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

           

            “It hurts, everythin’ fuckin’ hurts,” Eridan says, sniffing and relaxing enough to let Sollux thumb his tears off of his cheeks. “Just… be careful; I’m like a fuckin’ fine vase right now.”

            “Duly noted,” Sollux says, this time putting a gentle hold around Eridan’s waist and pressing feathery kisses down his neck, beginning to use his split tongue to lap at his cool skin once he reaches the collar of his shirt, licking under the fabric, around to his throat, up his jawline, and back to his lips, all without tightening his grip. “This better?”

            Eridan smiles and grabs Sollux’s cheeks. “Mmm, lots better,” he murmurs, easing back down to lie on his side, pulling Sollux down by the hair to stay nose to nose with him and stay that way, breathing up against each other for a few moments before pressing their lips together again; Eridan pushes against Sollux’s lips and lets himself be pushed back, shivering when he feels the forked tongue run along the back of his teeth. His hands move downwards to push Sollux’s baggy pants down as far as he can reach, letting his matesprit do the rest and slipping both of his own hands down his boxers to wrap around his bulges.

            He’s not sure if he was expecting something else, but he freezes once the slick yellow fluids coat his hands, fighting the urge to snap back and find a towel and a bar of soap. In the second it takes for Sollux to stop kissing him and give him a stare- one that’s almost disappointed, and a bit embarrassed, he reminds himself that it’s his matesprit, and that Sollux’s genetic fluid is the same as his own, just a different colour, a hundred times.

            “You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to,” Sollux whispers in an icy voice that chills every vertebrae in Eridan’s spine. “It’s fine, I know you think it’s gross.”

            “Shut up,” Eridan whispers back. “I don’t think you’re gross, an’ I’m not gonna stop touchin’ you so long as your bulges are willin’ to be taken care of.”

            “How charitable.”

            Eridan gives a hard squeeze of Sollux’s bulges that strangles a moan from his throat. “Quit antagonizin’ me.”

            Sollux worms his boxers down to his knees, sliding them off one leg using his other foot. “I know, I’m just being a jackass. Add it to the list of reasons why I’m universally reviled.”

            Another moan escapes Sollux’s lips when Eridan scrapes his sharp teeth all the way down his neck, leaving a tingling burn that is soothed instantly when he traces back up with his tongue, swirling up the shell of his ear and leaving a single peck on his temple with those soft and pillowy lips that Sollux’s mind defaults back to every time he’s bored, and he can’t help but grab Eridan’s hair a bit too tightly to get another taste of them, eagerness overwhelming him. He presses the heel of his palm to the underside of his bulge, grinding it up his stomach and groaning, low and loud, into Eridan’s mouth.

            Eridan’s lips are just as quickly replaced by one index finger pressing against his own, as Eridan shuffles down Sollux’s body, coming to rest with his face against Sollux’s bulges, beginning to work each one in a hand, making Sollux twist into the bed, seizing the blankets in his fists and pulling the sheets out from around the mattress as his fangs sink down on his bottom lip, breathy moans filtering through. “God, fuck, Eridan, squeeze a bit harder-” he pants, trying to control the autonomous rocking of his hips.

            “You’re so fuckin’ impatient, fuckin’ hell.” Eridan opens his palm to let the other bulge in, digging his freed fingers into Sollux’s nook, where he hardly has to move them; Sollux’s thrashing legs do most of the work for him. “Close your eyes.”

            Sollux does what he’s told, burying his face in the bedding, and allowing Eridan to have a private moment to take a deep breath, bringing Sollux’s bulges closer to his lips, then freeze again when drips of mustard coloured slime trickle off of them, the churning in his stomach convincing him that there’s something awful about it, but it’s Sollux- Sollux who promised to wait until he was ready, Sollux who laid with him all day when he was scared, Sollux who never laid a finger on him when he was tied up, Sollux who clubbed his own people to protect him, Sollux who cradled him in his lap and stroked his hair when he couldn’t move or talk, and there is nothing, nothing at all, that isn’t magnificent about him- not his mood swings or his genetic material, and maybe not even his blood.

            His face pushes deeper into the covers, muffling a high pitched moan, when Eridan draws just the tips of his bulges between his lips, pulling back to lick them all around. It tastes like nothing at all, maybe a bit coppery, but he has no hesitation diving straight into the base of his bulges and mouthing on them, licking long trails to the tips again until they’re almost free of genetic material, slick only with Eridan’s own spit, and he tries with one bulge at first, letting it curl into his mouth, tip flicking the back of his tongue, until he feels it filling his whole mouth and pulls back before he gags.

            Sollux is practically sobbing, waving a hand around until it can twine into Eridan’s hair and rub his scalp with the pads of his fingers. “Fu-uck—Eri— _fuck_ ,“ he moans, hips bucking without any sense of direction, urging him to continue.

            And he obliges without any second thoughts, jerking off the bases of Sollux’s bulges while he rubs the twined tips against his lips, running a tongue along them as he goes, sometimes taking them into his mouth, sometimes switching to lap at the base and tease the tips between his fingers. Sollux’s hand is light on his head, begging him to stay on his bulges, but easily yielding when Eridan pulls back, fingers curling and tugging his hair.

            The more seconds that tick by, the louder Sollux gets, and the more Eridan’s chest swells, suddenly anxious to unwind his matesprit completely. The first two fingers grinding against the front of Sollux’s nook drive him close, making him whine and gnash his teeth into the sheets, writhing around so violently that Eridan loses grip on his bulges and his fingers are pushed deeper into Sollux’s nook, making him shudder harder and ram Eridan’s head down his bulges, gagging him on the full length of them before he jerks his hand away and relocates it to his matesprit’s shoulder, where he starts to knead his trembling fingers into the sore muscles as a wordless apology.

            Sollux’s nook starts to clench down harder around Eridan’s fingers, spasming that much more when he adds a third, still pumping his bulges and sliding them in and out of his mouth; Sollux’s chest heaves with his hard pants, and he moans out a garbled, “Eri- _ngh_ , get me the- the- _fuck_ ,” motioning for the pail that he had shuffled under the bed, letting himself get moved around to accommodate for a bucket underneath him, crying out when Eridan digs his fingers into his nook and squeezes his eyes shut, drawing in the entire length of Sollux’s bulges again and again, yellow genetic material beading up on his lips and dribbling down his chin, only drawing back to gasp for air when there’s a steady stream of genetic material pouring into the pail and Sollux is twisting into the sheets, panting with tears beading in the corners of his eyes, rocking his hips into Eridan’s mouth, moving faster and then relaxing as he finishes, legs falling down to flop onto the bed once Eridan slides the bucket out and places it gingerly on the floor, not bothering to wipe his lips off before joining Sollux at the top of the bed, letting him lick his own genetic material off of Eridan’s lips as they wiggle closer together, entwining their limbs again, until the only thing that makes Eridan feel right is having Sollux on the other side of his lips.

 


	20. Bowler Hat Douchebags and Basement Sleepovers

Chapter 20: Bowler Hat Douchebags and Basement Sleepovers

 

            They’re starting to get used to waking up twisted together. With so much space in the bed, there’s no need to stack themselves up like on Sollux’s berth, and with the privacy of a locked door, they lie there as long as they want, kicking off the blankets when it gets too hot in the morning, saying nothing and lying with the new seeds of wakefulness sprouting up in their brains.

            And the best part is, there’s nowhere that they need to be- no slave supervisors, no paperwork, no military uniforms awaiting a body, no projects, no dinner plans or work or sea dweller meetings, just them lying in bed in t-shirts and boxers, unmoving save for the rise and fall of their chests and half-lidded blinks, readying for what will undoubtedly be a relaxing and lazy day.

* * *

 

 

caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

CA: FEF   
CA: FEF!!   
CA: GLUBGLUB   
CC: ------ERIDAN!!!!!!!!!!!!   
CC: GLUBGLUBGLUBGLUB!!! 38D 38D 38D!!!   
CC: -ERIDAN I MISSED YOU SO MUC)(!!   
CA: fef i missed you too   
CC: I am never going to call you a sandfull -EV-ER AGAIN!!   
CC: It's so BORING not )(aving you to look after!   
CA: <> <> <> <>   
CC: <> <> <> <> 38D!   
CC: )(as Sollux been taking care of you??   
CC: )(as )(e )(ad to pap you?   
CA: hes been takin care a me alright if you catch my drift   
CC: 380   
CC: W)(AT DO YOU M-EAN MIST-ER???   
CA: fef WWERE DATIN   
CA: ACTUAL REAL MATESPRITS!   
CC: 380!   
CC: YAY!   
CA: turns out hes been all sorts a red for me for ages noww and hes been fuckin great to me fef   
CA: i think im in lovve   
CC: <3 R-E-ELY?   
CC: W)(at ROMANTIC t)(ings )(as )(e done?   
CA: fef he sloww danced wwith me <3   
CC: GASP! Did )(e frenc)( dip you?   
CA: YES   
CC: !!!!!!!   
CA: he doesnt evven care about my thing i think hes THE ONE   
CC: T)(ing?   
CA: my you knoww wwhat wwith my you knoww wwhere   
CC: Your -ER-ECTIL-E DYSFUNCTION?   
CA: YES FEF MY ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION   
CC: -E-E-E-E-E-E-E----E------E!!!   
CC: <3 <3 <3!!!   
CC: T)(IS IS SO -EXCITING!    
CC: YOU AR-E MAD-E FOR -EAC)( OT)(-ER??   
CA: wwell   
CA: i dont knoww   
CA: B/   
CC: I don't t)(ink it matters! W)(at matters is t)(at you are in love and t)(at you treat eac)( ot)(er well.   
CC: I'm so glad t)(at you've been good!   
CC: As long as Sollux isn't a better moray eel t)(an I am!   
CA: no fuckin chance <>   
CC: )(ave you been doing okay wit)(out me? Did you need the videos?   
CA: uh ivve been not too bad   
CA: sol helped me out of a couple rough patches   
CA: but fef i havve to talk to you about somethin   
CA: i made so many fuckin mistakes on this fuckin trip   
CA: i culled my slavve an its been botherin the SHIT outta me   
CC: Demkin?   
CA: wwho   
CC: T)(at was )(is name...   
CC: Izenli grew up wit)( )(im.    
CA: izleni thats your slavve right   
CC: I told you, s)(e's not my slave, s)(e is my servant and s)(e is also my friend.   
CC: Not t)(at you would care, since everybody is just a slave to you, -Eridan.   
CA: hey thats not true   
CC: IT IS TRU-E.   
CC: I AM SICK OF IT!!   
CC: I'M SICK OF YOU P-EOPL-E T)(INKING T)(AT YOU AR-E ABOV-E OT)(-ERS AND T)(AT YOU CAN JUST TAK-E TH-EIR LIV-ES AWAY!!   
CA: FOR FUCKS SAKE WWE ARE   
CA: I DONT CARE IF YOUR "MORALS" DONT AGREE PRINCESS THIS IS THE WWAY THINGS ARE   
CA: EVVEN IF IT WWASNT THE LAWW YOU DONT GET IT   
CA: I CANT FUCKIN CONTROL IT   
CA: AND I KNOWW YOURE FUCKIN SPECIAL OR SOME SHIT BUT THE REST OF US HAVVE ALL A THIS FUCKIN RAGE JUST BUILDIN UP INSIDE AN THERE IS NOTHIN THAT WWE CAN DO TO GET RID OF IT   
CC: You CAN control it! T)(at's why you )(ave a moirail! T)(at is w)(y Sollux is wit)( you!   
CA: you wwanna knoww wwhere that got me??   
CA: i culled my slavve an i didnt knoww wwhat the fuck wwas happenin but i wwas wwith sol in my room an i just wwanted it to fuckin not havve happened so bad   
CA: he wwas so disappointed in me i could tell i just wwanted to make him happy so i tried so fuckin hard to pretend nothin happened   
CA: an i wwoke up in the middle a the day an pinned sol dowwn an gavve him all this shit about howw i could cull him   
CA: YOU THINK I WWANTED TO SAY IT   
CA: do you think that IF I WWERE IN MY RIGHT MIND THAT I WWOULD HAVVE SAID RUBBISH LIKE THAT   
CA: I LOVVE HIM   
CA: I WWOULD NEVVER LAY A FINGER ON HIM IF I HAD THE CHOICE   
CA: YOU   
CA: DONT   
CA: GET   
CA: IT   
CC: <>   
CC: Maybe not.   
CC: I'm s)(orey, -Eridan. I didn't mean to blow up at you. 38(   
CC: I'm trying reely )(ard to make Alternia a better place, and all t)(at I've managed to do is get some restaraunts to serve lowbloods.    
CC: Warmbloods, I mean.   
CC: I keep t)(inking t)(at maybe if I make small c)(anges, it will lead to BIG c)(anges!   
CC: Gl'bgolyb just keeps yelling at me w)(enever I try somet)(ing...   
CC: And everybody else just treats me like sea slime w)(en I leave my tide of the )(ive.   
CC: I t)(oug)(t Kanaya would support me, but s)(e just tells me to be more realistic.   
CC: And Aradia is t)(e only one t)(at wants me to make progress.   
CA: youvve been wworkin hard havvent you   
CC: 38C   
CA: im proud of you i dont knoww if that means much but i am   
CA: evven if my ideas arent so much aligned to yours youre doin a good job   
CC: 38)   
CA: if it means anythin to you i wwouldnt mind seein the stranger cullin go   
CA: no self respectin salt swwimmer wwants to wwatch people get culled for no damn reason thats like watching a puppy die sort of   
CC: R-E-ELY? 38D   
CC: Do you t)(ink we could do it? Make culling illegal?   
CA: WWHOA i didnt say that   
CA: i said cullin wwithout vvalid reason   
CC: 38D   
CC: I'm going to try!

 

* * *

 

AO: :P-- Ca:Ptor!!   
AO: :P-- Wake u:P!!   
AO: :P-- :P :P :P :P   
TA: the fuck do you want.   
AO: :P-- Were having a bit of an emergency over in the cock:Pit   
TA: okay eheh how doe2 thii2 concern me iin ANY way, 2hape or form.   
AO: :P-- The :Problem is that...   
AO: :P-- Just come to the cock:Pit kay   
AO: :P-- NOW   
TA: ooo, terriifyiing threat, ii am quakiing iin my 2hoe2.   
AO: :P-- Im coming to Get you   
TA: DUDE, fuck OFF.   
TA: ii don't know iif thii2 ii2 2ome form of 2oliiciitatiion but iit ii2 about a2 welcome a2 a jar of 10,000 2piider2 2howiing up on my door2tep.   
TA: all crawliing around on theiir ziiliion2 of leg2 bu2tiing iintwo my pantry liike iit'2 a fuckiing piicniic.   
TA: egg2ac2 flyiing all over the place bur2tiing iintwo an arachniid collage of 2liimy confetti.   
AO: :P-- :P   
AO: >:P-- I   
AO: >:P-- AM   
AO: >:P-- COMING   
AO: >:P-- TO GET YOU.

 

            Sollux tosses his phone down onto the end table, regretting the minutes that he just spent wasting his arm on such an asinine task, and wraps his arm back around Eridan, falling deeper into the pillows and letting his matesprit’s head tuck into his chest just enough that he can still watch reruns of Top Gear on the TV.

            “Who’re you talkin’ to?” he whispers, not taking his eyes off the screen.

            Sollux steals a glance back at his phone, trying to reason away the nerves tingling in his fingertips. “Nobody, just that clown asshole harassing me.”

            “ _Harassin_ ’ you?”

            “In typical clown fashion,” Sollux assures, “don’t ready your pitchfork just yet.”

            Eridan slumps back and winds a possessive fist into Sollux’s shirt, his other arm tightening its grip around his waist and puffs out a gust of air.

            Sollux wiggles away from the titanium grip so that they’re still comfortably snuggling, but without the fabric of his shirt being stretched to its limits. “Don’t get all pouty, come on.”

            Eridan goes silent for a minute before giving a deep sigh and pursing his lips. In a low, distant voice, he replies, “I can’t cull him.”

            He wonders why Eridan has such a runaway imagination. He’s like that- the second somebody flirts with him, he’s debating the pros and cons of moving in with them, the minute it starts to rain, he thinks about what parts of his hive will perish in the flood. It’s not surprising to Sollux that Eridan is musing about being unable to cull the ostensibly innocent purpleblood without serious legal repercussions, even if it does make an ill feeling tremor through his insides.

            “Don’t wo-“ Sollux starts, but is cut off by a rude, pounding knock on the door and looks down to find a pair or violet puppy-dog eyes staring up at him through water speckled lenses. “…Probably housekeeping.”

            “ _Sollux,”_ Eridan huffs when he gets up to answer the door, arms clawing across the bedding to drag himself into his wheelchair at the foot of the bed, but the door’s already open by the time he’s seated.

           

            It isn’t Velino in the doorway; it’s another purpleblood, one with much more class than the shirtless juggalo, with a large frame clad in a heavily modified suit and bowler hat, sunglasses obscuring his eyes and rendering his face blank and expressionless.

            He wears no facepaint, which is enough to show that he’s not a clown or a subjuggalator like many of his like-blooded counterparts, something that Sollux has to crane his neck upwards to note.

            It leaves Sollux wondering about chucklevoodoos, however, when his heart hammers and his mouth goes dry upon being engulfed by his shadow. “Y-yeah, what do you want?” he stammers, pushing his own glasses up to hide his fearful eyes.

            “Sollux Captor?” he asks after some time, staying so still that nothing save for his lips move and he remains impossible to read.

            Sollux’s knees almost fall in when Eridan rolls his chair up too closely, banging into the back of his legs, trying to horn in the narrow entryway. “The fuck do you want, interruptin’ a couple a’ pale lover’s ‘rail time? All the same with you fuckin’ grape ass mud runners, no respect what-so- _ever_.”

            The man tips his hat. “My apologies, Mr. Ampor-“

            “ _Mr.?!”_ Eridan rams Sollux’s knees again, trying to wiggle into the doorway, but Sollux lifts a leg to push his foot back against the wheels to prevent them from turning. “Excuse the fuck outta you, but I am a _particularly_ powerful member of the nautical aristocracy, rulin’ all over you fuckin’ land… landrubbish, ay-kay-ay, a fuckin’ prince a’ high regard, not some casual hat donnin’ _‘Mr.’_ to you.”

            Sollux kicks the chair, sending it lurching a foot back. “Time out,” he hisses through gritten teeth. “Time out for princess wiggler.”

            “-Mr. Captor, if we could step outside as to avoid such distractions?”

            A sudden chill reinvigorates Sollux, and he sends all of his hatred to his left foot for stopping Eridan’s meddling. “Do I have a choice?” he asks, following the man three paces out the door and shutting the door on his seething matesprit, who, he assumes, immediately presses his ear against the wood.

            “Rienzi Walwic, Director of Interstellar Flight,” the man says, and Sollux’s breath hitches. For a second, he swears he can hear Eridan’s fists curl into the door. “I’d like you to come with me.”

            Sollux grinds his shoes into the carpeted hallway. “For what?”

            “It doesn’t matter what; I asked you to come with me, and you’ll do as you’re told.”

            “Basic rules my lusus taught me: don’t go off with random trolls.”

            Walwic sighs and clenches his fists, sending a twinge of psychic energy through the air, and in a moment, Sollux feels the flesh on his hand- just the skin, not the bones or the muscles, though the rest of his hand instinctively moves in tangent to avoid being damaged- being yanked outward, then back towards his face to deliver a hard slap to his own cheek, powerful enough to knock him against the door, which immediately opens, resulting in Sollux crashing down on Eridan’s lap.

            Eridan makes to cradle his matesprit’s stinging face on his lap, but the grotesque feeling of flesh pulling away from bone strikes again, and he’s telepathically lifted by the forearms up, and dragged down the hallway, feet barely connecting with the ground enough for him to pull a half-jog in time with Walwic’s fast pace. Eridan sneers and follows after them, trailing far behind in his chair.

 

            He’s never had his psionics completely overpowered before, but the grip on his flesh is stronger than his own psions trying to pull it off, and he’s scared that he’ll skin himself if he struggles too hard. “What the fuck, dude?” he spits, once they’re in the elevator and the grip on his arms is released. His first instinct is to aggrieve, but his intuition overrules it, and self-preservation takes over.

            “I’m sure you have questions.”

            “Yeah, no shit.”

            His hand tugs up to give himself a railing punch to the face, making him bite the inside of his cheek and taste blood while his cheekbone throbs and swells.

            “Watch your attitude, pissblood.”

            Light flashes through the elevator as it descends- yellow light of the diner, red lights of the casino, and finally, fluorescent lights of the basement-level. “You said you’re with interstellar travel,” Sollux says, tongue running over the bitten portion of flesh inside his cheek. “And you know my name.” He finds himself thinking of something that other helmsman said on the ship, when they had spoken, briefly, over drinks at the bar; he can’t remember exactly, but it had made him stutter- something about him being a common name in helmsman circles.

            “That’s right,” Walwic says. “I know all about your mutant brain, Captor; I’m a man passionate about my job. I’m very interested in watching you in action.”

            The elevator doors open, and Walwic steps out, manually dragging Sollux out. “I’ll offer you a choice: you can behave and walk on your own, or you can have your skin pulled all the way to the cockpit.”

            Sollux grits his teeth and starts walking. It’s vastly unfair for highbloods to have powers- the occasional Cerulean with mind control, the Subjuggalators with their chucklevoodoos, and this asshole with some fucking skin-pulling ability. He longs for the day that his psioncs are fine-tuned enough to make him able to live without fear, but with his lusus gone, knows the only thing he’s going to learn is how to energize a spacecraft.

            As they continue, Sollux catches a whiff of something that makes his nose crinkle- something metallic, like… blood? It grows stronger as they draw closer, until doors part to reveal a blood-splattered interior- not just splatters, but pools of it, inch deep yellow puddles ebbing closer to the drain.

            There’s no sign of the body, or even any sort of investigation, just a thick coat of mustard yellow blood slickening everything. The helmsblock is empty, dead wires dangling from the ceiling and laying in the puddle, which helps Sollux to reason out the motive for the crime, and reason out the culprit.

            “You ripped his fucking skin off,” Sollux breathes, shaking his head and covering his mouth, sliding his feet back in a subconscious attempt to escape. The air is practically humid from the blood, a few hairs warmer than it should be and icy cold at the same time. “So you can watch me.”

            Walwic shrugs and walks over to the centre of the helmsblock. “In all due fairness, she was unconscious. But we have bigger fish to fry, capiche?”

            “I don’t know how to drive a ship, and even if I did, the answer would be no. I don’t care if you want to study me- you… you fucking _ripped her skin off_.”

            Walwic scoops up some large printed sheets off of a table and brings them over to Sollux. They’re rough drafts of planetary orbits, and Walwic traces through the planets with his fingertips, pointing first at Cavotter, then going around three planets. “We are here,” he states, pointing his finger somewhere between planets, pointing it towards the sketch of the sun. “If we free float, it will take approximately fifteen days at our current speed to enter such proximity to the sun that the ship is destroyed. That means you, your cocky little buddy, and everybody else here is fried. On the other hand, if you agree to get hooked up to the ship, we’ll be home in less than two weeks.”

            “I’ve never done this before.”

            Walwic clicks his tongue. “I’ve thought this through. You can do it.”

            A deep breath rolls its way through Sollux’s lungs, shaking as it goes. “I don’t have any choice in this, do I? Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question.”

            The purpleblood never misses a beat, always comes up with something to say to prevent the whirrs of machines to encroach on his personal conversational window, and says with no hesitation, “you were _born_ to do this, Captor.”

            And he’s right.

            There’s no choice.

           

 

            Velino and Cerati come in to the helmsblock once Eridan gets briefed on the details, both restraining him; even though Eridan isn’t stronger than either of them in his injured state, he’s crafty and squirmy and louder than fireworks exploding right in your face, protesting when he’s in the room and screaming at the top of his lungs when they briefly remove him. “He’s not a fuckin’ battery! I need him, you don’t fuckin’ get it; he’s not your fuckin’ property!”

            Velino tries to smother Eridan’s mouth, only to whimper when his hand gets chomped down on. “ _Oh motherfucker,_ fuck, calm down dude, it’s just helmsman duty.”

            Sollux’s hands vibrate on the edges of the medical slab, surrounded by four purplebloods, only one of which he has faith won’t kill him when he turns his back. His fear is marred with logic; other trolls get wired to the helm all the time- it’s just a _job_ , not even a particularly dangerous one (certainly less than an average soldier), but the stories that he’s stumbled upon range from unsettling to gruesome, from having two weeks of half-conscious, groggy delirium, all the way to tormenting pain and being sodomized by the crew.

            His thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing of an electric razor, and he’s grabbed by the horns and thrust towards the shaver, watching tufts of black hair float down onto the slab that take a minute to register who they belong to. The sounds that Eridan makes lead Sollux to believe that each hair is wired to his nerves.

            “Don’t you fuckin’ touch a hair on his beautiful head, you fucktrash! You… you fuckin’ waterlogged barrelhaulers!”

            Sollux runs a hand over his newly bald head, gulping hard. He hasn’t changed his hairstyle since he hatched, and even if he doesn’t care much about being kempt or handsome, the smoothness of his scalp gives him a lump in his throat. “It’ll grow back,” he mutters to himself, though it doubly serves to calm Eridan down.

            “He’s still cute bald,” Cerati whispers in Eridan’s ear, rubbing his arm to stop his shaking.

            Walwic shakes his head and slaps Sollux on the back, making him stand. He starts pulling out bottles and syringes from the cabinet. “Can you get Mr. Ampora out of here, your majesty?”

            Eridan’s eyes widen in shock; Sollux can hear his heart beating twice as fast in anger and the hatred twitching in his fingertips from being disrespected. He’s plotting murder when he’s wheeled out, plotting it so ferociously that everybody in the room can practically hear it- he swears to rend Walwic into a pile of bones, to clip all the wires holding Sollux and find some way to jam the hair back in his head and fill in all the holes that he’s going to get drilled into him, because he’s seen a helmsman get set up before, and he knows that their head gets cut open and their bodies get filled up with tubes for wires.

 

            It was a thought that hadn’t occurred to him as it should have, that his matesprit would eventually be drafted into interstellar travel; however, when it did happen, Eridan always assumed he would be able to overrule it, even if deep down he knows that he would never be able to and would have to go to Feferi, but they would save him, one way or another, from being a drooling shell for weeks at a time.

            But it isn’t his imagination- it’s the fears he never knew he had coming on so suddenly and appearing in front of his eyes in the form of a purpleblood in an obnoxious hat obsessed with watching Sollux and studying his brain, probing his mind and getting to know the deepest subconscious thoughts weaving into his cells and pushing all their magnificence aside with bloody fingers in favor of warping the fear and pain into electric fire.

            He starts crying as soon as he crawls up onto his bed and Cerati shuts the door to give him alone time, curling into a little ball in the blankets that are stained with spit and yellow and burying his face in the pillows, feeling himself getting kicked over and over in the imprisoning dark, by every shoe except for the mismatched ones, getting saved and protected and defended and rescued and freed, but he can’t return the favour, because he’s still that boy, curled in a ball on the floor; he’s helpless and his hands are tied.

 

 

            Three hours later, there’s a knock on his unlocked door, and Cerati comes back inside, sinking down on the foot of his bed and patting his ankle. “He’s uh… ready, if you want to go see him,” he says softly, leaning over to pull Eridan’s wheelchair up. “You alright?”

            Eridan’s grip tightens in the blankets. He’s managed to do nothing but cocoon himself with bedding in the past three hours, moving his head every few minutes to a dryer spot on the pillow. “I just want him to be happy,” he whispers. “And safe.”

            “He’s going to be safe, promise.”

            “Not safe enough.”

            Cerati chuckles and leans back. “You really love him, don’t you?”

             Eridan says nothing and nods, thinking of having that body wrapped around his own, thinking of that feeling that he’s been getting lately, like he can feel something else in his metaphorical heart, how he’s let somebody in and now he doesn’t have to feel like a rowboat drifting alone at sea without a paddle, because he’s tethered somebody in and it feels nothing like he’d imagined, not like a conquest or even a relief, not like he’s achieved a matesprit or a quench to his loneliness and dread of being alone. It feels like Sollux climbed into his rowboat with a pair of oars and they started rowing together, not any closer to the shore, but way out, further to sea where there’s a world that isn’t dark and weary, to one that’s full of stars and clouded over moons reflecting a hazy view of them sitting together with nothing but the vast universe.

            “Yes,” Eridan says back. “I love him.”

           

           

            Sollux isn’t fully conscious, but he’s visibly awake, drooling out spit bubbles from his bottom lip as he dangles from the wires, eyelids fluttering over his rolled back eyes. He makes small sounds, mainly incoherent murmurs and pathetic gurgling noises, periodically, but other than that, he shows no signs of hearing any of Eridan’s words or being able to respond.

            The tube down his throat would make it impossible anyhow. Eridan’s stomach lurches to see him in an ill-fitting jumpsuit, blood crusted around all his plug points, tubes in his wrists and small wires in his eyes, kneeling with his arms tied up, head limp and hanging.

            There’s no space for Eridan to be able to weasel in and hold him; there’s not even enough space unhindered by wires to be able to stroke his cheek, but there’s enough for Eridan to kiss his temples, and so he does, a hundred times, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling as close as he can get in an unsatisfying embrace.

            He’s heard of helmsmen being abused on duty, so he stays there, leaning against one of the machines, watching Sollux breathe, watching Walwic come and go, fiddling with dials and scribbling on papers with a sneer in silence, with no intention of leaving.

            He almost falls asleep, laying on the cold metal floor, when the door opening jerks him back awake and he sees Cerati carrying a bundle of blankets in one hand and a familiar bag in the other.

            “Hope you don’t mind, I broke into your hygiene block,” he says, tossing the toiletries bag at Eridan. “Figured you’d want your toothbrush.”

            Eridan takes a deep breath and pushes the front of his wheelchair out of the way, catching the bag as Cerati starts to lay out one blanket on the ground and one on top of Eridan. “Cer, you’re a fuckin’ god,” he says once he opens the bag to find a few tuna wraps thickly swathed in plastic shoved inside.

            “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” Cerati says back, sitting down beside Eridan and covering up in the makeshift sleeping bag. “You’re stayin’ here with him all day?”

            Eridan starts unwrapping his food, stomach suddenly groaning for something. “That’s the idea. I don’t want that fuckin’ charlatan doin’ anythin’ unsavory to my boyfriend.”

            “Fair enough. I’m not a huge fan of him either, like, I can guaran-fuckin’-tee you that he kills puppies for fun.”

            “Or food.”

            Cerati laughs, unwapping a sandwich of his own. “Do you think Captor can hear us?”

            Eridan shrugs. “I hope not. I’ve been sayin’ some mighty embarrassin’ things to him all night.”

            “Eridan, I don’t want to sound rude, because I mean this in a carin’ way, but are you goin’ to break up with him before we get home?”

            Flakes of tuna fall onto the blanket. Eridan stays silent, chewing slowly.

            “Do you know Carcha Squali?” Cerati asks. “She was pretty infamous a few sweeps ago before she left for Rumaria.”

            Eridan shakes his head. The name rings a bell, as a sea dweller that he may have met in passing before. Rumaria, as well, is a name that he can recall, being a planet exclusively for training the navy.

            “She dated a yellowblood- or it was rumoured or whatever-, and it was such a huge deal that she had to leave the planet, and she hasn’t been back since. Like, everybody was such a bitch that she couldn’t come to aristocratic meetings, she never left her wing, and even when she went to get some fuckin’ groceries, the stalkerazzi was on her ass and she was always coming home with bruises and spills all over her clothes.

            “So after not even a perigree of that, the yellowblood was found culled in a dumpster, and she tried to find a new matesprit to clear her name, but nobody would touch her with a ten foot pole, and eventually she left for one of the most remote training planets in the galaxy where nobody would know her name.”

            Eridan finishes off his wrap and tugs the blanket up under his chin. “Do you think we could keep it a secret?”

            “Eridan, I care about you, okay? But my advice to you is that you should either flip totally red on Feferi and take Captor as your moirail, or take him as a slave, just so that there’s no suspicion, because you can’t be hangin’ around with yellowbloods and not have people ask questions.”

            “I can’t take him as a slave, Cer, I can’t do that to him.”

            Cerati slumps down in the blankets and squeezes Eridan’s hand. “You don’t have a choice, really.”

            Eridan sighs into the fabric. “I know. But I want him to be my equal- not lowbloods or anythin’ like that. Just him.”

            “You want to make him your princess, is that it?” the other sea dweller laughs. “Yeah, if only. We can make as many rules as we want, but we can’t change their minds, you know? There’s some things even royalty can’t do.”

            Eridan slips down into the warm covers, staring at the slow pulsing of light from Sollux’s eyes, red and blue rising and dimming away. He doesn’t make the rules, he knows, but he’s been dealt a royal flush, and hell if he isn’t going to use it. He’s not even sure what he _can_ do, though he’s got enough of an angry streak blaring through him that he knows that it’s damn well going to be something.


	21. Whispering

**Chapter 21: Whispering**

 

            It only takes four nights to break through Alternia’s atmosphere instead of the projected eight. There’s something, Walwic notes while talking to himself loudly enough that Eridan can hear from his firm seat against the filing cabinet, surrounded by cellophane wrappers and empty soda cans, that is uncontrollable about Sollux Captor. Eridan’s toiletries bag is propped up next to him, and his husktop is open, but displaying a screensaver of swimming fish from over a half hour of neglect; his wheelchair remains in the room but no longer necessary and swapped  for a pair of crutches that Casice brought in, though he’s seldom left his blanketed pad in the four nights.

            He almost laughs upon hearing those words; he knows, he knows that Sollux is uncontrollable and too powerful for his own good. He can’t be slowed down- if he wants to fly the ship so fast back to Alternia that they arrive a whole week ahead of schedule, then he’s going to do it. There’s no changing Sollux’s mind when he decides on something, though his mind often does flip flop inside of itself, his arguments are himself vs. himself, tuning out all other reason. It’s frustrating as all hell, but Eridan would not have it any other way.

****

Walwic haphazardly rips the wires from Sollux’s skin once they land the ship successfully on one of the docks, spraying blood all over, such that Eridan screams at him to be delicate, fumbling onto his crutches and hobbling over. The wires from his eyes are pulled out slowly, and Eridan has to look away, but when he looks back, he sees Sollux’s horn wires being yanked out, the tube being removed from his throat, and Walwic starts working at the wrist restraints, leaving Sollux to tumble down to the ground, saved from bruising his jaw by Eridan lunging forward and sacrificing the unbruised portion of his leg to catch him.

            “He’ll wake up in about ten minutes. Get a bucket.”

            Eridan goes flush, first with embarrassment, then with fear. Surely, it’s obvious that he cares a bit more than a typical moirail about Sollux, but not so much that it’s suspicious- he’s sure that Equius would do the same for Nepeta, sans cuddling and kissing her. “A-a- why?!”

            Walwic tucks his clipboard under his arm, turning to leave. “Because,” he says, with enough attitude in his voice that Eridan feels like an idiot already. “He’s going to be violently ill. He’s also going to be temporarily blind, and mostly paralyzed for a few hours. Hope you don’t mind taking care of him.”

            Eridan flips him off and sticks his tongue out once Walwic turns his back, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

           

* * *

 

            Sollux’s mouth is partially frozen, removing his ability to talk beyond groans as he pukes his guts out into the bucket that Eridan has him leaned over, tears streaming down his cheeks. Eridan cringes the whole time, but he’s Sollux’s matesprit and his desire to live up to that name is stronger than his distaste for using a tea towel to wipe the bile and honey-water from his lips. He hardly even gets to clean them up before Sollux is retching again, sobbing with discomfort and frustration, limbs shaking violently. Eridan rubs circles on his bare back, having stripped the jumpsuit down to tie the arms around his waist and prevent any drool from getting on his clothes, as well as letting the newly formed scabs from the ports go uncontaminated by the sweat soaked suit.

            Even after only a week, Sollux is skinnier than ever, stomach caved in and spine like a series of knobs that Eridan can get his fingers caught in, shoulder blades jutting out so high that Eridan can’t rub over them, only between them.

            He’s always been bony, and Eridan kind of likes it- not like Feferi, who had voiced many concerns over it, always well intentioned, of course, but he remembers the way Sollux would laugh through gritted teeth, rubbing a hand over his knobby elbow and proceeding to try to force down everything on his plate later on. It’s not comfy to lie on a wiry frame, but it’s comforting, in a way, to feel his humanity, feel his ribs and hipbones and vertebrae slide under his skin and remind Eridan that there’s a whole other person, living and breathing with a network of flesh and bone right there, so close to him.

            Sollux’s whole body trembles and moves in uncoordinated motions; once his vomiting ceases almost entirely, they both sink down and Eridan wraps him in one of the blankets, instinctively beginning to ruffle his hair, and feeling the muscles in his hand seize upon finding a dusting of stubble where soft locks used to stick out at odd angles. He pulls his hand back to his side, casting his gaze away to the parts of Sollux that are the same, but there are none- his hair is gone, his whole body is sickly thin and pale and full of holes covered by tape and gauze. The ring that Eridan gave him is stuck in a drawer somewhere, his clothes are folded beside it, and even his shoes are gone, leaving him in nothing but a foreign jumpsuit and bandaged feet.

           

* * *

 

            He dreamt of green moonlight and the bitter aftertaste of diet coke, in spiralling patterns dipped in glowing magma that poured into his mind and burned his thoughts to the wet ashes of nagging pain, tugging wires pulling out of his wrists and eyes like runaway veins bursting free of his skin; he dreamt of restraints like sticky black tar crushing his lungs to the flattened envelopes that never held the love letters they were made for, and blacker than the abyss of tar was the sunglasses he saw flashes of and brighter than the sun that tore through it all was sharp white teeth like a hundred knives which gnawed his flesh and gave him milky white scars as a record of hatred and loneliness.

            The confusion was a dark paint over the glass window connecting himself to his consciousness, the far off voices pouring granules of sugar into his ears but remaining a pool of dust in his brain that he couldn’t sweep away- sand on a beach that couldn’t form castles.

            Hours on hours of being trapped in a cellar with the noise of civilization above, of dangling over a pot of fear and pain with the beating heart of a ship, with binary gunshots blasting their way through him and inside out eyes leaking power into wires and a sweet taste in his mouth as he woke up, that he wanted to roll his tongue over and over again and tell Eridan that his sticky margarita lips were worth every ounce of throbbing hangover, that they’re doing it again tomorrow so he can taste the syrup and cold ice and smile and fall into him once more until it melts into honey and acid burning up his stomach and a white blindness that makes him think he’s in heaven with KK and Terezi and Tavros but he’s not, he’s got needles in every pore that drive him crazy with the pain and he’s ill and he’s confused and he’s blind.

* * *

 

            Eridan stays by Sollux’s side, keeping him wrapped up in that big blanket, rubbing his pointy shoulder, until the ship is ready to unload, upon which time he whispers things to Sollux that he can’t understand, more sugary sweet granules that mush into a pile of nothing in Sollux’s ears, and his blindness is fearfulness- he can’t make sense of the sounds and he can’t see the world, his brain has been shoved in a blender and poured back into his fractured skull through the holes in his horns, but he feels Eridan move away from him and his reaction reflects back on him as overwhelming static of flailing limbs and strangled sounds; he can’t feel his body or see it or hear anything, but Eridan moves back towards him and there’s a distinct feeling of wet lips on his own that don’t taste like sticky margaritas, only like spit, and that’s just fine.

* * *

 

            He doesn’t stop shaking, but he slides into Eridan’s wheelchair and lets himself get pushed around, and he lets his hand get taken with cold gentle fingers and a purple ring that reflects red and blue gets put on his finger where it feels warm and at home and his knuckles get kissed twice. Things start making more sense as they move up the elevator, words start forming their castles as “Sollux, you’ll be so happy to be h0me,” and “We can go on our big date with ice cream and suits,” and he doesn’t mention that Sollux won’t fit into any suits right now because his throat has seen nothing but honey and water through a plastic tube. 

* * *

 

            He wakes up in his apartment, which he immediately figures out from the perpetual smell of frozen pizza soaked into the carpet, mixed with a smell that he places as genetic fluids, still blind, mind mainly clear, surrounded with his suitcase and Feferi Peixes, who he can pick out due to her continuous glubbing as she does something, which is, in all likelihood, tidying up. He hopes that she’s oblivious to the festering odours.

            “Feferi? What are you doing?” he asks, rubbing his temples to try to ward off the stalwart voices slicing up his mind with angered moaning over imminent death. His voice is rough and his throat is stripped raw from burning stomach acid; he can see only dark shadows when he focuses his eyes, like the whole monochrome world lit up behind a thick bedsheet.

            “Just tidying up a bit,” she calls back, setting down the box of cereal that Sollux vaguely remembers feasting on the morning before he left (Honeycombs; it was good when he was four, and it’s good now that he’s ten) and plopping down on the couch next to Sollux. She strokes his cheek gently, giving him a doting kiss on the forehead. It reminds him of when they were dating, and how sweet and gentle she was with him, how she would bend over backwards to do nice things for him and make compromises without him having to ask. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but where’s Eridan?”

            “Eridan had something very important to do,” she says, pursing her lips, and Sollux furrows his brow. He isn’t what he would call a demanding boyfriend, but he knows Eridan, and he knows that there are very few things more important than Sollux being unconscious, blind, and sick.

            “What?”

            Feferi heaves a sigh and strokes Sollux’s cheek again. “He was being elusive about it.” There’s something about her touch that’s making his chest feel warm, unnaturally so, especially given the circumstances of feeling a bit offended, making him dredge up memories of blasting his leg half off and bleeding to death, only to feel her hands on his chest tracing swirly lines and bringing him back to life- it’s something that he can’t shake, something that he finds himself thinking of again and again, because he’s been different since then, in ways that he hasn’t been able to find the words to describe.

            When her hands touch him a second time, he feels her warm tears drip onto his chest- his bare chest; he’s still half undressed in his baggy jumpsuit, and her fingers curl in his skin. “I’m sorry too, you know,” she whispers, placing her whole cool palm on his flesh. It takes Sollux a minute to realize that she’s abruptly changed gears to direct her words to Sollux’s port-laden skin and shaved head. “I want to make things better for people, and I try and try and things like _this_ happen every day, but it’s even worse when it happens to you!” She takes a ragged breath and drops her voice in tone. “It’s not fair.”

            And her hand presses harder on his chest, becoming impossibly cold and webbing ice through his veins, rewiring his heartbeat and making pale green flash behind his eyes- it’s green, or maybe it’s violet, he doesn’t really know; it’s a colour he’s never seen before, and then it’s gone, replaced by familiar red and blue in every shade as he looks around with perfect eyesight, remnants of nausea being whisked away and his lungs feeling like they can take in a hundred times the air and he feels… slow, and fast at the same time, he feels like he’s had twenty lifetimes shoved into his own, and even the voices are calmer.

            Abruptly, Feferi stands up and darts over to the kitchenette, resuming her tidying with quick, dextrous fingers, moving fast to create a barrier that will block all of Sollux’s questions.

 

****

* * *

 

           

            Eridan finds Kanaya just outside the city limits, on the cliff beside the cave mouth, arms crossed and lips pursed.

            “I don’t want to drag things out,” she whispers harshly, tapping her chin. “I’m still not sure I should have called you in the first place.”

            Eridan doesn’t argue, though he can feel a numbed desire to, like his normal nature is smothered by a thick layer of racing thoughts and fear, but simply nods, heart ramming in his chest, and follows Kanaya into the brooding caves, the place that she calls her work since her transfer that occurred sometime in the span of the two perigrees that Eridan was gone. She carries a big glittery lamp, glass cut in swirly shapes and feminine patterns, and leads him all the way, past the snoring mother grub, through the cave until they emerge out another exit into a plateau several metres from the opening to a forest. Bugs chirp around them, flying about, and the few dozen grubs left from hatching wiggle on the mossy ground as more are carried off by lusii.

            Some lusii rustle out of the bushes and sniff at the grubs, many retreating without finding a match, and it isn’t until Eridan’s eyes adjust that he sees one grub that continuously gets neglected by potential lusii.

            “Kanaya.”

            “I know.”

            His heart rate picks up and his quivering knuckles clench around the gun strapped to his side. “Kanaya, kill it.”

            “I’m only authorized to cull defective grubs.” She clenches her fists to her side, staring at the fuchsia bodied newborn. “It’s an inevitability, Eridan, and I’m sorry. But you know that Feferi is stronger than she seems.”

            He finished his book on the cumulative knowledge of Fuschia trolls many weeks ago, but it’s been sticking to his back ever since, glimpses of inescapable futures for Feferi- the Condesce, in all her tyrannical glory, has ruled for little over three thousand sweeps, and slaughtered the previous empress, who was only two thousand, strong and bright, but the Condesce was stronger and brighter, and still is, and Feferi is stronger than she seems, but she’s not a killer- she can’t even hunt for her own fucking mother, just swims and laughs and snatches the occasional fish for lunch and dreams of the inversion of the Alternian ideal, the opposite of what Gl’bgolyb, the monster behind the throne, wants.

            The Fuchsia grub wiggles over to a stone crawling with dragonflies, gurgling out guttural noises, and opens her tiny mouth, revealing tiny, half developed fangs, and snaps her jaw down on the wings of one of the bugs, making the rest fly away in terror as she gurgles again and shakes her head, ripping the wing off between her teeth and sending the injured body of the dragonfly off into the night.

            Of the ones that know her, each and every highblood would be glad to see Feferi gone. She’s unwelcome, a radical fighting for goals to weaken the empire, an enemy in every sense and if not for her blood, she would have been hung for treason. And it isn’t that Eridan isn’t appalled by her idea of morals- tossing aside survival of the fittest and the notion that physical and intellectual superiors should be recognized and treated as such, and allowing lowbloods with their mayfly lifespans to be put in positions of power and never have the time to develop the deep wisdom of their superiors through centuries of experience- she’s wrong, she would be an awful empress, but goddamn it, she’s the best thing that has ever happened to Eridan, she’s his best friend and his moirail and she might as well be his family, and it’s plain to see that, if not for her connection to Gl’bgolyb, the Condesce would have flown home to cull her ages ago. And now that there’s another Fuchsia to carry that torch…

            “Kanaya,” he repeats, voice shaking harder and tears starting to well up in his eyes when he thinks of Feferi’s blood on the ground and some fucking wiggler he doesn’t even know wearing a gold tiara and making him hunt for her and bloody his hands and get half digested under the ocean, more out of anger than any sorrow. “Kanaya, _kill it!”_

            Kanaya shakes her head and takes a step back. “She’s not an it, Eridan. I haven’t made up my mind, we can’t just-”

            Eridan puts a tighter grip on his rifle, aiming it straight for the Fuchsia. “Kill it, Kanaya. Kill it, or I will!” He swirls his rifle around to point to Kanaya, who tightens her jaw and raises her arms defensively. “You want Fef to die, is that what? You’re not gonna make a sacrifice for your _friend_?!”

            Kanaya is silent for a long time, not twitching a single muscle in her face under the scrutiny of Ahab’s Crosshairs, until she finally repeats, “I’m not authorized to cull non-defective grubs. Just… just let me _think!_ ” He’s not sure that he’s interpreting her right, but she could be culled for treason if she kills the grub, and she doesn’t want to risk it- that’s what he comes up with.

            But he’ll risk it. He takes a long ragged breath and wipes his snot on his sleeve, sticking the diamond of his gun right up to the grub, who gives a confused squeak and looks up at them with big grey eyes that get overtaken by blinding light the moment Eridan screams incoherent things at Kanaya and the world and yanks the trigger, liquefying the grub into a charcoal smear in a splatter of royal blood.

            The high pitched screaming from the grub echoes in the air as birds flee from the trees and lusii retreat back into the forest. After a moment, even the crickets go quiet.

            “Leave.”

            Eridan doesn’t argue, and follows Kanaya back through the cave to the other side. “I understand,” she says quietly as they do so. “And I don’t want you to leave with the false idea that I’m angry or disappointed with you. But I do want you to leave.”

 

**_\-- good boy you’re perfect--_ **

**_\-- you’re vicious boy you’re perfect --_ **

 

* * *

 

            Sollux springs up the second there comes a knock on his door, opening it wide and nearly toppling Eridan over by wrapping his arms around his hips and pulling them together, smothering his lips before he gets a chance to speak.

            “I cannot,” he says between kisses, “believe that there was something more important than me that you had to do. I’m in full fucking overbearing matesprit mode right now, I swear to god. God, I feel so _good_.”

            “Would you shut the fuck up?” Eridan snaps, shaking his head.

            Sollux snorts and pushes him away, retreating back to his spot on the couch. “Well fuck, if you want to be a prick, get the fuck out of my apartment. Don’t spoil the best mood I’ve swung to in weeks.”

            “I don’t want to hear your fuckin’ voice, alright?”

            “Then leave, and come back once you’ve dug all the sand out of your nook, asshole.”

            Eridan mashes two fingers to his temples. “No, Sol, not you- I- I mean, I’m not talkin’ to you.”

            “Well, FF left a half hour ago, so unless you’re talking to the mould colonies under my kitchen sink…”

            “I said _shut up!”_

            Sollux rises just in time to catch Eridan’s head with his chest as he falls forward, palms over his ears, whimpering and shaking his head vigorously. His mouth goes dry. He knows that look- it’s one that he’s given the thin air around him so many times, the look of anger and desperation, the pleading with voices that only he can hear, futile attempts to block out the sound and knock it out of his head- but Eridan isn’t psychic.

            Sollux pulls Eridan tighter into his chest, sinking them down into the squeaky springs of the secondhand couch. “Eridan,” he says, firmly and loudly. “Are you hearing voices other than mine?”

            Eridan looks up with tear streaked cheeks and nods, bringing his trembling claws up to twist the shoulders of Sollux’s shirt. “Just one,” he says. “It’s so _loud_ , Sol, how can you live like this?”

            “You get used to it, I guess.” He eases Eridan onto the pillows and moves over to his freezer, pulling out one of the many ice packs that he has on reserve. He doesn’t like to spend money on overpriced things, but the big blue gel packs feel so fucking good moulded around his aching skull. He stoops to grab his ipod out of his backpack as he passes by the door, and wiggles under his matesprit, squishing the gel pack over his forehead and sticking his headphones into Eridan’s earfins. The one twitches when Sollux’s fingers brush against it, as always, and as always, it makes his heart skip a beat.

            “Is this the Sims soundtrack?” Eridan groans, readjusting the headphones. “You’re not makin’ my headache better; you’re just makin’ me want to build a hive.”

             Sollux pauses the music. “This is buy mode music, could you be any more ignorant?”

            “Then put on your fuckin’ Sinatra or some shit, I don’t want to listen to the fuckin’ inner monologue of Ikea.”

            Sollux switches the songs on his ipod and shifts his legs under his matesprit. “Is the voice saying anything in particular-”

            “-No,” Eridan replies, far too quickly.

            “So any idea what caused it-“

            “-No.”

            “…or who the voice is-“

            “-No fuckin’ idea, don’t be ridiculous.”

            “Eridan.”

            Eridan purses his lips and buries his head into Sollux’s chest.

            “Eridan, who is it? I know you recognize the voice; the only time you can tell a good lie is when you convince me that I have any sex appeal whatsoever.”

            “You’re oozin’ with sex appeal, muffin,” Eridan murmurs, grasping at straws to change the topic. “Muffintop Boogerstain.”

            “That’s not even a fucking pet name, that’s a schoolyard insult. Who’s the voice?”

            “Devious Cornbread Sourpuss.”

            Sollux snorts and pulls his matesprit closer, rubbing his hair with one hand and smushing the gel pack into his head with the other. “You are _shit_ at these.”

            “Boomsniff Fartfeather.”

            “You’re just smashing random words together now, come on. Put some heart into it.”

            “Sensual Veggie Aftertaste.”

            “Blown Loincloth Caress.”

            Eridan shakes his head on Sollux’s chest. “How the fuck are you so good at this? I’m just gonna call you ‘honeybee’ from now on, that’s it. That’s the best you get.”

            Sollux nods and buries his nose in Eridan’s hair, reminding himself of how his questions were successfully dodged, though he finds it hard to be angry- for one, it’s Eridan, who he’s been having trouble being cross with lately, and two, he doesn’t like talking about the echoes in his skull either. Usually, it makes it better to carry on with life as normal.

            “So, date next week?”

            And, much to his relief, on the bare skin of his chest, he can feel the corners of Eridan’s mouth rise and his cheeks round in a smile and his heartbeat slow to a barely-there pace.

 

            **_\-- welcome home--_**

 


	22. Fanfic Writer Cullionly Pulls a Fakeout

As you may have noticed, this isn't a chapter update. As you also may have noticed, it's been quite a while since there were any chapter updates! I'd just like to clear some things up.

 

First, it was my unrealistic intention for this fic to go on indefinitely, until I got tired of writing it. As time went on, I worked out a whole plot diagram, which would have this fic ending up roughly twice as long as it is at this point, but would include a very satisfying ending that brought to fruition all the seeds that have been planted throughout these chapters. When it became clear that I simply don't have the motivation to write 150,000 more words of this, I decided to cut it off at a reasonable 24 chapters, which I had figured would be easy to crank out. 

I don't really know why I stopped enjoying myself while writing this. It happened almost overnight- one day, I loved writing and was excited to pump out the next chapter, and the next, I simply didn't feel the same way. I've always liked writing- it's something that I've been doing for years, but it was never a concern of mine whether I was good or bad, or whether things were finished or not- it's always been a personal experience, and after starting Crainbow, I figured that some people might want to read it, so I posted it, and it made me incredibly happy to see that other people were enjoying it- I've made actual friends from this silly fanfic. It's still on my plate of things to do, however with school and work and other IRL factors, it's become more of a burden than anything else.

I probably should have made this post a long time ago, but the fact is that I don't want to leave this unfinished, and have made a semi-official decision to start it up again at the end of the semester. I say semi-official because there is still a chance that I'll walk away from this entirely, but once I'm bored and homeworkless in the middle of December, I do hope to be able to get my motivation back. I've experienced a lot of support from you guys, and it means something to me that I don't let you down or add to the massive pile of abandoned longfics. 

So basically, all I'm saying is that you might experience A Very Crainbow Christmas: "Romantic" Erisol Date Edition.


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